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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22754125">best laid schemes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahtohallan_calling/pseuds/ahtohallan_calling'>ahtohallan_calling</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>best laid schemes [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Frozen (Disney Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Fake Marriage, Friends to Lovers, Modern AU, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, aka kiltstoff, it's about the yearning, set in Scotland, tw past emotional abuse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 10:55:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>87,648</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22754125</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahtohallan_calling/pseuds/ahtohallan_calling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Running away to Scotland was supposed to solve everything. No more drama with exes, no more arguing with their families, no more wondering what they're supposed to do with their lives. </p><p>And then within twenty minutes of meeting each other, Kristoff and Anna are renting a cottage together and pretending to be married. </p><p>Turns out there are some things you just can't plan for.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anna/Kristoff (Disney)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>best laid schemes [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1738645</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>430</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>295</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. an unexpected turn of events</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you mary and gabi for helping me come up with this, and thank you to all the anons who sent me drabble prompts that inspired this :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There was a man following her, a man who looked far too normal to be the sort of man who did that sort of thing. He was very tall, though, with the sort of shoulders you expected a fireman to have, so maybe he was used to getting his way with things, women in particular. Let him try; she was rather used to getting her own way with things, too. Except for now, of course, when she had somehow ended up making her way through St. Andrews so quickly she was half out of breath on what was supposed to be her final dress fitting day on the other side of the Atlantic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She glanced over her shoulder as she rounded a corner and saw the man was still there, though he didn’t seem to be paying her any mind. Apart from following her, of course. When she turned left, so did he; a right, and he was still there, and when she went through two crosswalks and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>still </span>
  </em>
  <span>was behind her, she knew it for certain: he was following her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna spun on her heel, stamping a foot and tossing her hair back a little; she felt a little foolish doing so, realizing she probably looked like a bull getting ready to charge, but she held her ground anyway. “I have pepper spray, you know,” she said matter-of-factly. “And it’s broad daylight. So you shouldn’t try anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man blinked. “I’ll keep that in mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She narrowed her eyes. “Are you a tourist, then? You sound American.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So do you. Well, kind of.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m only </span>
  <em>
    <span>half</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And I live here, sort of.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me too. The ‘living here’ part, not the half-American thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well-- then if you’re not a stalker and you’re not lost, why are you following me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She took another step, moving backwards, and so did he. “I’m not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to 34 Huntly Gardens,” she said, realizing too late that perhaps it was a bad idea to give her future home address to a total stranger, even if she was realizing he had kind eyes that were currently looking bemused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So am I.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes widened. “Well, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she said decisively before turning and setting off at at a trot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He caught up to her with ease thanks to his long, loping stride. “Why not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m</span>
  </em>
  <span> leasing it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And who decided that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did. When the first place I wanted fell through, and it’s this or student housing left, and I’m far too old for a </span>
  <em>
    <span>dormitory</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My first place did, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She scowled. “I started walking here first. I was ahead of you. So it’s only fair that it’s mine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll race you for it, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No fair! You’ve got much longer legs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you have a head start.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not any</span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Not since I had to stop and tell you off in case you were a creeper.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that’s your fault, then, for wasting it, isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were nearly there. She put on a last burst of speed, but he matched her pace easily. She stood in front of him on the doorstep and turned around, ready to give him a scorching telling-off that would get him out of her hair, but he merely reached over her shoulder and rang the doorbell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>serious</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she hissed, “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> this place.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So do I.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! Good afternoon! I suppose you’re here about renting the house, aren’t you?” asked a heavily accented voice, and Anna turned to see a woman with white hair pulled back into a neat bun and a pair of bright green eyes set in a wrinkled face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” said the man, extending a hand, “so good to meet you in person, Mrs. MacLaren.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You too, dear,” she said cheerily, shaking it before backing away from the door. “Do come in, won’t you? Ah, here we are-- care for some tea?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without waiting for an answer, she tottered off towards the back. When Anna didn’t immediately follow, the man cleared his throat meaningfully. “Better go talk to her if you’re so dead set on renting this place.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m waiting for you to leave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why would I do that when </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> need this place more than </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>? And even if I didn’t, how can I turn down a free cup of tea from a sweet old lady?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs. MacLaren poked her head out from around a corner. “Is something wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Anna said quickly, giving the man one last glare before stepping inside. “Just, um, getting something sorted out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To his credit, he did pull both her and Mrs. MacLaren’s seats out at the kitchen table, though by the sparkle in his eye he did it more out of mischief than a sense of chivalry. “Quite the charmer, isn’t he?” the woman said with a bright smile as she slid Anna a steaming mug of tea. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, definitely,” she deadpanned, but the woman was already squinting through her glasses at a stack of papers and missed the sarcasm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad it’ll be a pair here, you know, the place has felt terribly empty to me since my Martin passed,” she said with a contented sigh. “And I can already tell you two’ll take very good care of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a prospect neither of them had yet considered. She caught the man’s eye as he sat beside her and saw him lift a shoulder in a half-shrug. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>would</span>
  </em>
  <span> save her a lot on rent…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Anna said quickly, “we certainly will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you like to have a look at it, then? Looks just like the pictures, that’s what the realtor told me since Lord knows I can’t see two feet in front of me these days, but you’re welcome to double-check while I make sure all the paperwork is in order.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That would be lovely, thanks,” Anna said, already rising and giving the man another meaningful glance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment they were out of Mrs. MacLaren’s line of sight, she crossed her arms and whispered furiously, “If we go through with this--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Being roommates, obviously.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just checking! Didn’t want to make assumptions, unlike </span>
  <em>
    <span>some</span>
  </em>
  <span> people around here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes narrowed; they seemed to do that a lot around this man. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Anyway</span>
  </em>
  <span>. If we do this, no...funny business.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Funny business</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Who says that these days?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what I mean. No trying to sniff my panties and sell them on the internet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he said, though he sounded more amused than offended. “Do I really seem that bad to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t, not at all, and therein was the problem; he had done nothing but be perfectly polite to her, even after she’d threatened him with pepper spray. Never mind the fact that she didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> carry any with her, not after the time the bottle she’d had on a keychain went off in her purse when she’d sat on it and ruined her new leather wallet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And his eyes were more than kind, they were terribly warm and currently very amused, and he was actually sort of handsome if you didn’t mind men who were too tall for their own good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was still waiting for an answer, though, and so she sighed. “No, I suppose you’re not </span>
  <em>
    <span>awful</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How generous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s only one bedroom here, though. And I want it, so--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, you’re, uh, you’re a lady and--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A </span>
  <em>
    <span>lady</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Now who’s saying old-fashioned things? Anyway--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m trying to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>polite</span>
  </em>
  <span>--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Anyway</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she said again, “I’ll pay more than half rent to make up for it. If that’s alright with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will, or else you’ll change your mind later and get all resentful of me and want to change the lease and then it’ll be post-it notes everywhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. Pay more, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded firmly. “I will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should we see the rest of it, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They went upstairs together and poked around, admiring the spacious closets and wrinkling their noses at the green paint in the bathroom. She spent more time glancing back at the man, though, wondering whether she had made the right choice in agreeing to live with someone when she didn’t even know his name.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Anna,” she said suddenly, hoping to remedy at least that part of this exceedingly bizarre situation. “Just so you know. Anna Delle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kristoff Bjorgman.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stuck out a hand out of habit, and she shook it awkwardly. Neither of them quite knew when to pull away, so it was no small mercy when Mrs. MacLaren called from downstairs, “Ready, dears?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They scurried down and found her beaming, holding up a sheaf of papers. “Here you are, then, ready to sign if you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They set to it, signing quickly before either of them could change their minds and back out. After a moment, though, Mrs. MacLaren cleared her throat, a little frown appearing on her brow. “I’m sorry, just one question-- why do you two have different last names?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-- what?” Kristoff said with a frown of his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just assumed, you know, that you two would be a </span>
  <em>
    <span>married</span>
  </em>
  <span> couple, and while I’ll not judge, I do go to church every Sunday, I’ll have you know, and it just wouldn’t feel right--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We are married,” Anna said quickly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman’s eyes slid to their bare left hands, and she began to panic. To her surprise, Kristoff said, “Newlyweds. Eloped over the weekend. Rings are still being refitted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs. MacLaren looked a little bit less affronted, though there was still concern in her voice. “But your </span>
  <em>
    <span>names</span>
  </em>
  <span>--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!” There was something she could supply. “I’m a writer. Kept my maiden name, means I don’t have to go ringing up all the libraries asking them to re-alphabetize.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs. MacLaren’s face brightened again. “Oh, isn’t that lovely? What sort of things do you write?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um. Essays, poetry, just...things. Stuff. I don’t know,” she said, waving an absentminded hand and wishing Kristoff would hurry up and finish signing before she could say something else that might ruin this deal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lovely! And your husband?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She froze; mercifully, Kristoff looked up just then. “I’m an anthropologist. I’m here in town to help get the new museum running.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What a coincidence!” Mrs. MacLaren said, her smile growing improbably broader. “Most of my late husband’s estate is set to go to the museum, and most of his collections, too, lots of little Jacobite things, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff smiled back at her, but Anna noticed something new in his eyes, as if he had just realiezd something. “Small world, huh? I guess this worked out pretty nicely for the both of us. The three of us, I mean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, he set down the pen, and it was done.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had known, of course, that this sort of thing was too good to be true. You didn’t just find a pre-furnished cottage a half mile up the road from work only three days before you </span>
  <em>
    <span>started</span>
  </em>
  <span> that work and not expect there to be something wrong. He’d expected it to be a leaky roof, maybe, or mice, or loud neighbors, or perhaps a resident poltergeist like just about everything in Scotland seemed to have.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last thing he’d expected was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>roommate</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It could be worse, he supposed; she seemed pretty normal, all things considered, apart from being crazy enough to agree to live with a strange man within twenty minutes of meeting him. And be his fake wife.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then again, maybe </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> was the crazy one. Anna had probably just replied on instinct, but he’d given </span>
  <em>
    <span>reasoning</span>
  </em>
  <span> for it, an </span>
  <em>
    <span>explanation</span>
  </em>
  <span>, as if pretending to be married to a total stranger was just part and parcel of finding a decent rental. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it could be worse. Perhaps he was still sleeping on a sofa here, but at least it wouldn’t be on Rachel’s sofa, while Rachel herself and her </span>
  <em>
    <span>new</span>
  </em>
  <span> boyfriend did more of what he had already seen </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span> than enough of in the master bedroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He groaned and ran a hand over his face as he leaned over the kitchen sink. He’d meant to just get a glass of water and be on his way, but now he’d been standing here for the better part of ten minutes staring out the little window at the neighbor’s garden.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everything alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He jumped and turned to see Anna standing in the kitchen, looking just as nervous as he felt. Her eyes were blue, he realized, </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> blue, and right now they were wide and waiting for his response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, of course. Just thinking. Kind of a mess we’ve gotten into, isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She bit her lip. “I am, um, sorry, by the by, that it’s worked out this way. I was just upstairs looking at the closets and all, and it hit me what a brat I was being. It’s just-- well. I really did need somewhere to stay. But it’s my own fault for ending up in that situation, so. Um. Sorry to have dragged you into it. I’d, uh, offer to back out, except, well, the lease, and I really actually don’t have anywhere else to go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was far from the response he’d been expecting from the woman who’d already proven to be the feistiest person he’d ever met. “Oh. Um. Apology accepted. I’m sorry, too, that you’ve got to share with me. But, ah, same here-- nowhere else to go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna nodded. “Well. At least we’ll only have to pretend to be married when she pops round for a visit. The rest of the time we can, you know, keep to ourselves.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Erm-- actually--” He took a deep breath. “Um. She’s sort of the museum’s biggest backer. The one I’m working at. Trying to get it opened and all that, sort of why I, you know, packed up my life and moved here. Didn’t realize when I saw the listing online that she was </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>Mrs. MacLaren, and it’s sort of too late now. But anyway, if, um...if she turns out to be the sort of person to hold a grudge, and she finds out we’ve been lying to her about this…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’ll pull your funding,” Anna said, a funny tone in her voice. “So...who else…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just-- you know. Um. People she might know. Or run into. Mostly people at the museum with me, I guess. Or, ah, the neighbors.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turned it over for a moment, considering. He waited, hoping she didn’t notice how tightly his fingers curled around the edge of the countertop behind him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>God</span>
  </em>
  <span>, his mother was going to absolutely murder him if she found out how many ridiculous things he’d done today. Then again, she never had liked Rachel. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe she’ll like Anna</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought for one idiotic moment, as if his mother would ever meet her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” Anna said then, sounding like her normal-- or what he assumed was her normal-- determined self again. “But if you want me to actually go round pretending to be your wife, I’m not paying more than half anymore. But I am keeping the bed, still, no way am I going </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> far to--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, no,” he interrupted, perhaps a little too loudly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hesitated for a moment before nodding. “Well. That’s good, then. Me either, by the way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah-- good. Great. No worries, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded again. “Well-- I’ll just be off to get my things, then. Only brought the one suitcase, so I’ll get that and then come back and be set up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re really moving in here that fast?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you I needed it, didn’t I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just...well. Okay. Guess I didn’t know how serious you were about that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well. Now you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turned on her heel and marched off. When he heard the door close behind her, he sighed and sagged against the countertop. He should do the same, should go back to Rachel’s flat and gather his things. He’d meant to wait til tomorrow, really, to get over here, but then again if it meant not having to argue with stupid ponytail Jeremy again over whether or not one had a right to brush one’s teeth at the kitchen sink…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He burst outside just as Anna was passing in front of the garden he’d been staring at earlier; the door slammed shut loud enough that she looked back at him in surprise. “Mind if I walk into town with you?” he asked. “Might as well get my things, too. And, um, we can get to know each other if you’d like. Since we’re, you know…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fake married?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Exactly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded. “Okay. No holding hands or anything, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Why would you--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know! I don’t know what fake marriage entails!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed. “Maybe we need to sort it out over dinner tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dinner tonight? Is </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> the sort of thing it entails then, eating together and--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know either, Anna,” he said irritably, reaching the limits of his patience, and her mouth snapped shut. “I just thought I’d try and be friendly and make some spaghetti or something while we worked things out. But if you’d rather--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” she said, “no, that would be nice. Except I hate spaghetti.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll make a carbonara, though, if you’d like. And pick up some sorbet or something to go with, but only if you promise to stop being so grouchy with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m</span>
  </em>
  <span> the grouchy one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m not grouchy, Anna</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she mimicked him, her voice still several steps too high even as she lowered it and stood on her tiptoes. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I just never stop frowning and-- and saying grouchy things</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t sound like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You definitely do. It’s alright. I’ll get used to it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somehow they were already at the town center, and as he began to take a left she went to the right. Both of them paused for a moment, their eyes meeting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Kristoff said finally, “This is my turn. I’ll pack my things and see you back at the house, then. Want me to pick up a bottle of wine for dinner?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’d be lovely, thanks. No red, though, I hate it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wouldn’t dream of it. Nasty stuff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gave him a smile, then, the sort of smile that made you feel liked. “See you soon, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turned and walked off, and for a moment he couldn’t help but watch her, the way her long ginger hair rippled in the breeze as she trotted off; she crouched down for a moment to pat a puppy tied to a post in front of Tesco, and suddenly he realized he was smiling, too.</span>
</p><p><span>He could already hear his mother’s voice in his head, asking him</span> <span>what in the world he had gotten himself into.</span></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. an accidental attraction</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“I hope you don’t mind extra cheese,” Anna called without preamble as he came through the door. “Because I forgot I’d already put it in and didn’t realize ‘til I was halfway through the second time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hate cheese, actually,” he said, and she whipped around to glare at him, eyes already narrowed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you told me carbonara was--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kidding. Who doesn’t like extra cheese?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her scowl would have been positively terrifying if she hadn’t been a head and a half shorter than him. “I don’t think I like you very much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will it help if I tell you I got three bottles of wine to make sure there’s one you don’t hate?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe. Are they the ones Asda’s got marked down right now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well-- one of them is, the Chardonnay. But I heard women like it, so--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you assumed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What else was I supposed to do? We didn’t think to exchange phone numbers, couldn’t exactly call you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighed and set the spoon down before coming over to rifle through the bags. “Oh, good, you got a Riesling. That one’s for me, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> like Riesling? And besides, why would I let you have a whole bottle to yourself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you bought </span>
  <em>
    <span>three</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and I’m cooking dinner for you, and I’ve had a terrible day. You wouldn’t believe what a dickhead my new roommate is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the end of her little tirade, the corner of her mouth was twitching upward, and suddenly Kristoff realized he was smiling, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he remembered that she was an absolute stranger, and that he was going to share this house with her for the forseeable future, and that somehow he was going to have to convince an insane number of people that she was his </span>
  <em>
    <span>wife</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He cleared his throat and looked back at the shopping bags, pulling out the bottles one at a time. “Anyway, I hope I’m not really a dickhead. If I am, though, tell me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trust me, I will,” she said, returning her attention to the pot on the stove. “And you’d better do the same for me. I’m a massive bitch in the mornings, so feel free to snap at me if I deserve it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dry my socks on the radiator and forget they’re there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do the same with my bras,” she said, dumping the pasta into the sauce. “And I always lose the cap to the toothpaste so it gets all gross.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, god, that’s a dealbreaker right there.”</span>
</p><p><span>“Shame, then, that you’ve already signed a year’s lease and got yourself stuck with me. Tell me when.”</span><span><br/></span> <span>He waited what he thought was a perfectly respectable amount of time, watching as she scooped pasta into a bowl, before saying, “That’s enough.”</span></p><p>
  <span>“What are you talking about? It’s not even half-full.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tips of his ears were burning. “I don’t want to be a pig after you’ve done all the cooking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be silly. I made enough for a family of six,” she said cheerfully and filled the bowl until it was nearly overflowing. “Eat up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me pour the wine first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, we’re not drinking straight from the bottle? I thought it was that sort of night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He paused halfway to the cabinet. “Is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well. We’re both clearly in dire straits if we’re living together and pretending to be married, aren’t we? And if we weren’t already, well, that second bit is sort of enough to make anyone want to rip their hair out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He opened the cabinet and found it full of spices that looked like they’d expired a decade ago. “Next over,” Anna said, before he could ask. “And sorry if that was insulting. I didn’t mean it to be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I know what you mean. And I...I don’t know, if it’s going to bother you that much to pretend, then I’m sure we can work something else out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But the museum…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean,” he admitted, “that’s sort of in dire straits as well right now. Considering I moved up here to help my girlfriend open it, and now she’s my ex-girlfriend and already living with Jeremy and his ponytail and also it turns out it’s not even all the way built yet. The museum, I mean, God knows that ponytail is already long enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna finished filling her own bowl and turned to him. “I’m supposed to be getting married in a month. Too late to get the deposits back, my sister’s still not talking to me, and between all that and moving over here I've wiped out my savings. Want some salad with this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, I’m good, thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good, because I didn’t think to get any.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff nearly choked on his wine as he burst into laughter. “Shit. Maybe-- maybe this roommate thing won’t turn out to be half-bad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jury’s still out on that,” Anna said, and he wasn’t quite sure if she was joking or not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An awkward silence fell over them then; with nothing to focus on except their steaming bowls of pasta (which honestly was bordering on too cheesy, but he wouldn’t dream of complaining about free food) and each other, suddenly the stream of banter that had flown so easily between them dried up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The, um, the pasta's great," he said at last, and Anna nodded without looking up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thanks. Got the recipe off Pinterest."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll do the dishes after."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nah, you got the wine. Fair's fair. We can do them together. No dishwasher, sort of a pain in the ass, isn't it?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, maybe having company will make it a little less painful," she said, giving him a flash of a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Here's hoping."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few minutes later as they stood side by side in a silence that was only somewhat awkward, it occurred to him for the first time that Anna was terribly pretty if you were into long wavy hair and blue eyes and turned up noses covered in freckles. He had always thought he was the sort of man who preferred brunettes, but in a post-Rachel world he was beginning to question everything. Including himself right now, wondering why the hell he was ogling his roommate when they were both fresh off of serious breakups and he didn't even know what she did for a living and he was literally up to his elbows in dirty dishes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Did you use every pot in the house?" he asked and immediately regretted it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Biting the hand that’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>literally</span>
  </em>
  <span> just fed us now, aren’t we?" she sniffed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I...yeah, sorry, that was rude of me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She blinked up at him, surprised. "Oh. I didn't actually expect you to say sorry. Because I did use all of them. Sorry from me, too."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His cheeks were burning again. "No, I...I'm not good with new people. Hard to tell when they're joking with you or not."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, you're lucky, then. I'm great at making new friends. Well, usually. Today I think I did a pretty bad job of it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nah. I don't mind you even if you do let your toothpaste get crusty."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How generous of you," she said with a laugh, and he grinned back, feeling unusually pleased with himself. "Anyway, though, I was going to go on a tour of the city tomorrow, haven't been here in years. Not with a guide or anything, just a little travel book. You're welcome to join if you like. Maybe we can have a normal chat then. And it'll give you a head start on convincing people we're married."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Really, Anna, I know that's a lot to ask of you. The museum's probably fucked at this point anyway, might as well--"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No," she said firmly, "no, I've always had a soft spot for the underdogs. And anyway, I've definitely done stupider things for worse reasons than this before."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Like what?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Like almost getting </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually </span>
  </em>
  <span>married."</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>The shower was already going when she woke up the next morning with a crick in her neck and a roaring headache; she had finished the bottle of wine herself after all after going upstairs to have a shower and watch Netflix. She couldn’t help but wonder what Kristoff had done, if he like her had wanted to block out the memory of his own insanity at least for a few hours and gotten himself nice and tipsy-- well, a bit past that, if she was being honest-- as he settled in to gorge himself on a stream of terrible movies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Probably not. He worked at a </span>
  <em>
    <span>museum</span>
  </em>
  <span>. If he watched movies at all they were probably the ones where you didn’t really know what was going on except that there was lots of morose people wearing shades of brown talking about the meaning of Life. Or maybe he’d read a book with a cup of tea-- decaffeinated, of course, like a sensible person-- and gone to bed at half past nine and already gotten up and gone for a six mile run this morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she heard the shower turn off, she couldn’t help but peek past the edge of her half-open door. To her disappointment, Kristoff emerged fully clothed, his hair still damp-- and to her horror, he saw her looking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello,” he said, thankfully looking awkward instead of amused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Morning,” she squeaked, tugging the duvet nearly up to her nose so he wouldn’t see her blushing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He came closer, hesitating at the edge of the door. “Hope you haven’t been awake and waiting for the bathroom too long.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, you’re fine. I’m a night showerer anyway. And only just woke up, don’t need a wee yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah,” he said, looking visibly uncomfortable. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck, Anna, you didn’t have to tell him </span>
  </em>
  <span>that</span>
  <em>
    <span> bit.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Um. Sorry if that was oversharing, I’ve got a massive headache and can’t think straight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Finished that Riesling, did you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“S’alright. I finished the Chardonnay and have a headache now, too. Going to make some coffee if you want some?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do we have coffee?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Planned ahead when I bought the three bottles of wine,” he said, tapping his forehead, and she couldn’t help but laugh despite the splitting pain it shot through her skull.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, maybe this housemates thing really </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> work out after all,” she muttered, and it was his turn to laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll see if you still think that after you taste my coffee. Want me to close this for you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, please. Dunno why I left it open all night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He only nodded before closing it; she couldn’t help but notice he did so carefully so that it made barely a click when it shut. Probably more for the sake of his own headache than hers, but she appreciated it all the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she padded downstairs, still in her pajamas though her hair had been tamed, Kristoff was peering into the fridge and looking oddly nervous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What,” she asked, “carbonara grow legs overnight or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a stupid joke if it could even be called a joke at all, and immediately her cheeks were burning yet again. Mercifully, he didn’t look at her; to her surprise, he was looking a little red-faced himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, just that...well. I didn’t think to get any food, and so I saw there’s still a bit of cheese and bacon left from last night, and there’s eggs too, so I was wondering if, uh…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you can use them? ‘Course, long as you make enough to share.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighed. “God, I really didn’t miss having a roommate. I don’t mind if we share ingredients as long as you share what you make with them. And start a list on the fridge for when we run out of important things. Easy enough?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-- yeah, suppose so, yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. Coffee done?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah, just about,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at the pot as he grabbed what he needed and headed towards the stove.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excellent. How do you take yours, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, if I’m pouring mine, might as well do yours, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, um-- just milk for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Brave man,” she muttered as she dumped two heaping spoons of sugar into her own mug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, the silence as they ate was a companionable one. She took full advantage of the opportunity to peer at him over the rim of her mug, doing her best to work out what she could about him without disturbing the peace of the morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mercifully, his attentions were centered fully on his plate and his phone, affording her an excellent opportunity to come to an opinion about his hair and the way it was flopping forward as he flicked through his notifications. It was nice, she decided, even damp like it currently was, if a little bit too long. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glanced up at her then, and the way it fell over his eyebrows perfectly framed his warm, dark brown eyes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Never mind</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>not too long at all</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a Claire’s on the high street,” he said, and she nearly let out a sigh of relief that he hadn’t noticed her staring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to get your ears pierced today or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No, I’ve already-- never mind. Anyway, we can get rings there, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rings? What do you-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>. No, that won’t work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His brow furrowed. It was sort of adorable. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’ve been single for two weeks, Anna</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she chastised herself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stop drooling</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not?” he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it’s a store for girls.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So? I’m quite secure in my masculinity, thanks very much, I can handle walking into a girls’ store.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She let out an ungraceful snort. “No, you big ridiculous-- here, give me your hand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your hand,” she said, tapping the table. “Lay it out here, palm up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He did so hesitantly, and without a second thought she laid her own on top of it, palm down so he could see exactly how much his hand dwarfed hers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See?” she said, her voice sounding just a little bit too high as she saw herself that her fingertips only reached to the midpoint between his knuckles, and felt that his palm was wide and warm and calloused, and she wanted to know where those rough patches came from, if he liked to garden or to build things or to climb mountains, whatever it was he did with these hands that thrilled him enough that he did it over and over again until it had left its mark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She swallowed hard. “See,” she said again, her voice closer to normal this time. “They’re not going to have anything big enough to fit you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” was all he said, but he didn’t pull away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She did, though, and resumed sipping her coffee as if absolutely nothing out of the ordinary had just transpired at all. “Well, anyway, we’ll get it sorted out. Do you still fancy going on a walk round the city with me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, give me half an hour to get ready and I’ll be back down,” she said decisively, pushing back from the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll check Amazon, then, while you’re upstairs. For the rings, I mean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perfect.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And if she spent a little more time than normal that morning choosing an outfit-- well, wasn’t like he knew any better, did he? At least that was what she told herself as she tested out a third pair of earrings, blinking nervously at herself in the mirror. Alright, so maybe she thought he was handsome, but she couldn’t act on it, not now or ever. Right now it’d just be a rebound, which wasn’t fair to either of them, and in the future-- well, that would be an absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>fantastic</span>
  </em>
  <span> way to ruin a perfectly nice (so far, at least) housemate arrangement. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she told herself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>it’s going to be all look but don’t touch around here. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Except for in public. When people have to think you’re married.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>When he heard her coming down the stairs, Kristoff peered around the corner. “I think I’ve found some that’ll work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me have a look.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d picked two simple silver-plated rings; plain, but then it wasn’t like she really </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted</span>
  </em>
  <span> to draw extra attention to this. “Those look great,” Anna said, “how much’ll I owe you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing. My fault you’re in this situation, so it’s on me. And anyway, they’re only twenty pounds each.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Frugality, always the most romantic way to start a marriage,” she said drily, and when he chuckled she couldn’t help but smile, feeling sort of proud of herself for having made him laugh so many times already.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what’s on the agenda?” he asked, going over to slip on his shoes from where he’d left them by the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The ruins, the sea, the university. Not the golf course, though, couldn’t give two shits about that bit.”</span>
</p><p><span>“God, me either. But I think we’re doing some stuff with the ruins for the museum, maybe, so that’d be lovely.”</span><span><br/></span> <span>“Yeah?” she asked as they stepped outside. “What sort of museum is this, anyway?”</span></p><p>
  <span>“Sort of a cultural and historical museum of the area. There’s a ton of history in this city, even if most people only know it for golf now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And Kate and Wills getting together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, sorry, guess I’m still too American to know that happened here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughed as they turned a corner and headed up the main road. “How long have you been here, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just two years, did my master’s in London.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you’ve not been in Scotland before?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, just for visits with Rachel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah-- the ex-girlfriend. Current, um...co-worker. Well…more than that, she’s the one who’s sort of been helping get the museum set up from the start.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you came up here to do this for her? God, that’s shitty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not just for her,” he said defensively. “I mean, okay, here </span>
  <em>
    <span>specifically</span>
  </em>
  <span> for her. But in general I wanted to stay anyway and do...anthropology stuff. Be a curator someday, maybe, or else keep doing digs until I keel over in one of the holes and they call it my grave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So that was where the callouses came from. She desperately wanted to know more, not just about that, but about this Rachel, too, about why he was still doing the project and what had happened and if he planned on getting over her anytime soon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time the voice in her head sounded an awful lot like her sister’s. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stop it, Anna</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that’s what Elsa would say, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re just jumping from one thing to the next hoping it will make you happy. Slow down and think for once in your life.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>And so she did, shoving her hands in her pockets and trying to think of anything besides the way Kristoff’s hand had felt so lovely pressed up against hers. After a while, as they drew closer to the main campus of the university, he gave her a sidelong glance. “Everything alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, sorry, it’s grand. Just sort of plotting out my walk. That’s what I’m doing here--” she said, pointing at a particularly ancient looking building, “going to graduate school, I mean, not just walking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, cool. What for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Literature. And writing. Sort of a...combined thing, I dunno. Well, mostly I couldn’t choose between the tracks and got lucky that some courses overlap so they’re letting me do both for now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you a writer, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um. Sort of,” she said, and didn’t elaborate further.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They didn’t speak again until they drew near to the cathedral ruins overlooking the sea. She’d visited before as a little girl but hardly thought anything of it; she saw so many old crumbly things when she came in the summers that none of them particularly stood out to her. This time, though, she was next to someone whose jaw literally dropped when he took in the scale of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I saw the pictures,” Kristoff said softly, “but this is...wow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiled. “Right up your alley, isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, god, yeah. I mean...</span>
  <em>
    <span>wow</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took off then, and she practically had to jog to keep up with him as he headed for one of the stone walls. Had he been slowing down for her so she could keep up? His legs </span>
  <em>
    <span>were</span>
  </em>
  <span> sort of insanely long-- and there was Elsa’s voice in her head again, telling her off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mercifully, it was drowned out by Kristoff’s breathless monologue. “Can you believe it? Nearly a thousand years old, and it’s only been in ruins for a few hundred. This was the biggest cathedral in Scotland...can you imagine how many thousands of people passed through here? All the weddings and baptisms and funerals and...</span>
  <em>
    <span>wow</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had to admit, he had a knack for this sort of thing; she had goosebumps rising on her arms as she looked around them. She wished she understood this sort of thing well enough to ask him smart questions, but instead she had to settle for having a wander of her own as he leaned down to examine some plaques.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually she grew tired of trying to think intelligent things about it all and instead plopped down in the grass, leaning back on her hands so she could admire the blueness of the sky against the weathered gray of the stone, filling all the space where a stained glass window must have once been. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That’s nicer than any old glass, anyway</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought, immediately feeling a bit stupid for even considering it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was startled when suddenly a larger form appeared by her ankles. “Jesus, give us a warning next time, will you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff laughed and leaned down a little to offer her a hand up. She pretended not to see and pushed herself upright, knowing that touching him again would only lead to trouble. “Well, that’s that then. Next stop the beach?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without waiting for an answer, she set off, and after a painfully long moment in which she had to fight the urge to turn around, she heard his footsteps following behind her.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. lemon and two sugars</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“So when are you going to explain the ring to me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you it’s not that exciting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You haven’t even told me her </span>
  <em>
    <span>name</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rachel was leaning back against a filing cabinet in their makeshift office, and he was holding a folder full of grant information, and they were at a standstill. Well, really, they’d been at one since he’d showed up three weeks ago for his first official day of work on the museum wearing a silver-plated band on his left hand, and her eyes had nearly popped out of her head. He’d been able to dodge most of her questions then with noncommital remarks like “just kind of happened” and “we just clicked”, and when those didn’t work, a faux-cheerful “so how’s Jeremy?” was enough to send a flash of guilt across her face and shut her up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So how’s Jeremy?” he tried now, but to his surprise instead of wincing Rachel narrowed her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have to stop using that against me, Kris. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Especially</span>
  </em>
  <span> now that you’ve shacked up with someone even faster than I did. And not just that, you’ve gone and </span>
  <em>
    <span>married</span>
  </em>
  <span> her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At least we were </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> broken up when I did it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not my fault you didn’t know what ‘I’m not ready for this, let’s take a step back and re-evaluate’ meant.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If it meant ‘let’s break up’, you should have </span>
  <em>
    <span>said</span>
  </em>
  <span> that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d hashed out this exact same argument at least five times already. He knew full well that it would go nowhere in particular, but that it would eventually lead to her walking off in a huff and forgetting about why she’d stopped to pester him in the first place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See, that’s exactly why I had to do it,” she said, throwing up her hands in exasperation, and suddenly this was taking a new turn. “You were always shit at </span>
  <em>
    <span>getting</span>
  </em>
  <span> stuff, Kris, you had to have everything spelled out for you. For fuck’s sake, you tried to propose to me when anyone could have seen our relationship was heading downhill!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had the sudden distinct feeling of being in an elevator that had just unexpectedly come loose from its cable at the top of a very tall building. “I think when you’ve been together three years, and your girlfriend hasn’t said anything to the contrary, it’s pretty reasonable to assume marriage is the next step,” he managed to say despite the tightening feeling in his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> at first, but then...things changed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> changed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How, Rachel?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know! I just didn’t love you anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then you shouldn’t have kept saying it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What would you have had me do, huh? Just tell you ‘hey, I’m falling out of love with you’? I thought you would, you know, pick up on it like a normal person.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, actually, that’s exactly what I would have had you say, because then--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everything alright?” came a booming, strongly accented voice, and Kristoff realized suddenly that he and Rachel were nearly nose to nose. He jumped back and turned with a smile that felt more like a grimace towards the doorframe to see their boss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re great, sir, thanks,” Rachel chirped, leaning out from behind Kristoff to flutter her fingers at the massive Scotsman filling the door way. “Just filing some, um…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Grant paperwork,” Kristoff finished for her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. Because I’ve got more for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, Dr. Oaken,” Rachel said sweetly, “I’m sure Kristoff can take care of that for you.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>
    <span>Only you, Anna,</span>
  </em>
  <span> she thought irritably as she stomped home as grouchily as she could without making her sprained wrist bounce around in its sling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she’d told the story to the nurse at the clinic, she’d done so with lots of theatrical expressions and waving hands (well, hand) and laughter, and he’d laughed along with her as he’d given her an x-ray and wrapped her wrist and showed her how to fasten the sling. “It’s nice to have patients who have a sense of humor about this sort of thing,” he said as he’d bid her goodbye. “Really makes my day go by easier. So thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was all rather a lot less funny now that she was trying to keep her umbrella open while fumbling in her pocket for her house key. She settled for tucking the handle in around the strap, which worked long enough for her to dig the key out, but before she could revel in her moment of triumph the wind knocked it free, sending it tumbling down the sidewalk and leaving her to get absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>drenched</span>
  </em>
  <span>. By the time she’d managed to snag it again, her hair was plastered to her face, her dress was clinging to her shoulders, and she’d managed to step in a puddle that soaked straight through her tights.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her teeth chattered as she fumbled her way inside, giving up on getting the umbrella in after a moment and instead just dropping it by the side of the stairs and slamming the door behind her. For a long moment she simply stood there, letting her hair drip all over the floor and willing herself not to cry in case Kristoff was home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she heard no footsteps or rustling pages-- he never shouted a “hello”, always waited until she said it first-- she let out a sigh, her shoulders sagging a little as she toed off her sopping wet ballet flats and trudged upstairs to figure out how to get out of a dress with buttons down the back while she only had the use of one hand and a shoulder that screamed with pain each time she twisted even the slightest bit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bottom one wasn’t so bad, not when she could just reach back and turn her wrist to flick it open, but the second she tried to raise her arm back she let out a little yelp of pain. For a moment she waited, teeth clenched, before going at it from a slightly different angle that ended up hurting even worse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sat on the edge of the bed, and that pushed up the material enough that she was able to get the second one from the bottom, but her next attempt hurt badly enough it brought tears to her eyes. “Fuck</span>
  <em>
    <span>,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” she hissed through shivering teeth, half considering turning on the radiator and plopping down in front of it til she dried off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She closed her eyes, trying to draw in a deep, centering breath like they always talked about in those fifteen-minute meditations she always tried to do when her nerves got all jangled. She rarely made it past five minutes, but she was very good at drawing in as much air as possible and holding it as long as possible before letting it all go in a rush. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t think that’s how you’re supposed to do it</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she suddenly remembered Hans telling her when he had come upon her listening to one of them after a particularly rotten day. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I think it’s supposed to be steady and even and only to a count of eight.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, this way is what makes me feel better, and that’s the point, isn’t it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s still wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck him,” she mumbled under her breath. She could do this; she could get this dress undone and change into dry clothes and do her readings for the night and get on the job boards for the trillionth time to see if there was </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> she could do, and she’d do it on her own and pull it all off because she </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> take care of herself, ha-ha to anyone who had thought otherwise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her determination renewed, she reached enthusiastically for a higher button and was met by an agonizing pain in her injured shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking </span>
  </em>
  <span>Christ!” she yelped, more out of frustration than pain, and heard only a moment later heavy footsteps coming through the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She squeezed her eyes shut, willing him not to say anything, but then he was creaking up the stairs and rapping gently on the door, even though she had left it standing wide open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everything alright?” he asked, and she fought the urge to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>of course it’s fucking not, you idiot, I’ve got my arm in a bloody </span>
  </em>
  <span>sling</span>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just fine, thanks,” she said, not meeting his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hesitated for a moment, and then he came over to her, kneeling in front of her so that even with her head hanging low she could meet his gaze. She bit her lip as she looked at him, fiddling with her sling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened, Anna?” he asked, her voice so soft that somehow the truth came tumbling out of her without embellishment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I fell,” she admitted sheepishly. “Off, um, off a rock. It was sort of nice before the rain this afternoon, so I was down by the beach and sat on this nice innocent-looking boulder, and then when I got up to go I didn’t realize I had pins and needles, and so I just...fell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her face heated as she explained, fully expecting him to laugh, but for once he didn’t seem to be in the mood to tease her. Instead, he just looked at her for a long moment, his eyes thoughtful. She held his gaze, wondering why her heart had suddenly seemed to pick up speed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At last, though, he blinked and looked at her bandaged wrist. “I’m sorry. Looks like you did a number on that arm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sprained it bad enough that it’s gone all purple beneath the wrapping. Disgusting, really. I’ll show you later if you’d like,” Anna said just a touch too quickly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t laugh. “You’re shivering.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you…um….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He trailed off, his cheeks slowly reddening. It was endearing, somehow, to see how nervous he was around her even though they’d been living together for nearly a month. Finally, he cleared his throat and looked up at her, his hair flopping down over his eyebrows. “Do you need help with your dress?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now she was blushing, too. “Thought we agreed to no funny business.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s-- I’m not-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he muttered. “I’m not trying to hit on you, it’s just I’d feel like a massive dick if I let you keep fumbling around up here and shouting just because you can’t undo your buttons.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t shouting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, you were. I heard you yelling as soon as I opened the front door. Why do you think I came up here so fast?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shrugged before she could think better of it and let out a hiss of pain. To her surprise, Kristoff flinched, too, and it bothered her, somehow, to see him wince like that over her. “I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she said, a little more harshly than she had meant to. “No need to fuss over me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He merely looked at her for a long moment, his expression unfathomable, before nodding and rising to his feet. “Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned and left, shutting the door behind him, and plodded downstairs. She waited until she heard the scrape of a chair on the kitchen floor before she heaved out a sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t that she didn’t want his help, certainly not that she didn’t need it; the problem was that she didn’t want to </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> it, wanted to prove she could do something like this on her own. If she’d been living alone like she had planned, then asking for help wouldn’t even be an option, would it? She’d be stuck in this soggy dress the whole night, have to go back to class the next day wearing the same exact thing with her hair all messed up and ratty, or take a pair of scissors and cut it right off, even though it was new.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re being dramatic</span>
  </em>
  <span> came the voice in her head, and somehow it sounded like Hans. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You could get it off if you just stopped being a baby about it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He wouldn’t say it that way. He’d find some smart way to say it that made her face flush and her stomach feel tight, because he’d find a way to put it that she couldn’t refute, and then it would stick in her head for the rest of the day, and she’d finally come up with a retort while she was shampooing her hair and by then it would be too late, because then they would have moved past it, and if she started a fight over something that was already done with then she would be the dramatic one all over again and the cycle would just keep repeating itself on and on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She squeezed her eyes shut tight. That was part of why she had broken up with him. She’d tried to explain it to Elsa, how she always felt so terribly not-enoughish. “Then why didn’t you tell him that?” Elsa had said, as if she were a child who needed such things laid out for her, and Anna had just shrugged as if she’d never thought of that because it was easier than watching her sister’s lips purse tighter and tighter with every word.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tried once more to reach for one of the middle buttons on her dress, and the pain that had subsided to a dull ache came roaring right back to life. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she said softly, tears springing to her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What point is there, though</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought suddenly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>of sitting around sulking and aching and damp when there’s someone perfectly willing to help? No one else will ever know you asked him for it</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would know. And he might think less of her for it, but like it or not they were stuck with each other for the near future, so she might as well make the most of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she padded down the stairs and leaned around the doorframe, she saw him hunched over the kitchen table, one hand running absentmindedly through his hair over and over as he pored over a book. At first, he didn’t seem to notice her, and for a moment, she debated turning and running back upstairs rather than disturbing him while he was clearly busy. But then the kettle started to whistle, and he sat up anyway and noticed her half-hidden in the doorframe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I put enough water in for both of us if that’s why you’ve come down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...tea would be really lovely, honestly, thanks. But...I do need help if you don’t mind. And I promise I’m not trying to hit on </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> either. I mean, really, I don’t even think of you that way, so no worries there. I just really, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>want to get out of this dress before I catch cold.”</span>
</p><p><span>He nodded. “I promise not to look at anything I’m not supposed to. I, uh, don’t think of you that way either. It’d just complicate things, wouldn’t it?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Exactly! I’m glad we’re on the same page.”</span></p><p>
  <span>“Definitely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a beat of awkward silence where neither of them quite knew what to do, and then he got to his feet and came over to her. “Um. Okay. I’ll just...get to unbuttoning, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. Great. Um...should you get the kettle first?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It can wait, right? Or-- here, hang on,” he said hurriedly, already turning and going to the stove. “Yorkshire for you, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked anywhere but at him as he turned the stove off and filled two mugs, trying to ignore the strange feeling of disappointment tugging at her. She’d said it first, hadn’t she, that she didn’t think of him </span>
  <em>
    <span>that way</span>
  </em>
  <span>? So it shouldn’t be bothering her that he had said he didn’t look at her that way, either, even if it had come as a bit of a surprise. She had sort of thought-- well, anyway, it didn’t matter now, and he was coming back over to her looking solemn and a bit nervous, and so she turned away from him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” he said softly from behind her, and a shiver ran down her spine as she felt his long fingers settle against the nape of her neck. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please let him think it’s just from the chill</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought, wishing her stupid, betraying heart hadn’t just fluttered behind her ribcage.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s just because you’re lonely</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought as he carefully undid the top button, </span>
  <em>
    <span>because you miss Hans, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and the next was free, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and it’s like your sister said, you’ll take affection any way you can get it,</span>
  </em>
  <span> two more, </span>
  <em>
    <span>even if that means imagining it’s somewhere it’s not</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and then he was finished and the whole of her spine was exposed to him, prickling with goosebumps, and for a moment his breath was warm against her skin, and his hands hovered over the small of her back, and she wished he would press his lips to the soft place at the juncture of her neck and shoulder just so she could see if he really was as gentle as he seemed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then he stepped back, bumping into his chair, and the moment was broken. “There you are, then,” he said, “all set.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” she said, unusually quiet, and without waiting for a response she went back upstairs, wondering if he was watching as she went.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna managed to slide the sling off with only a twinge of complaint from her aching </span>
</p><p>
  <span>shoulder, and without the strap holding the fabric in place her dress fell easily to the floor. She wriggled out of her tights, screwing up her face in concentration as she tried to figure out how to do it one-handed, but then at last she was nearly bare and turned and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror on the back of the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her hair was still damp, frizzing at the top and sticking to her cheeks, and mascara was smudged under her eyes. When she curved to get a look at her back, she saw the blue and purple bruise smeared over her shoulder that was giving her so much trouble right now. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stupid</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid bruise, stupid shoulder, stupid you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tea’s ready,” Kristoff called from below, “lemon and two sugars?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had been paying attention. It made her feel guilty, almost, that she wouldn’t have known how to make his if their places had been swapped. She had never been good at things like that, at noticing the little details; she was more of a broad strokes person, big picture and general idea and what lay behind it. It was how she knew, somehow, after three weeks of living with him that she had been right to trust him, though she still couldn’t pinpoint exactly what proved that. Then again, that wasn’t quite true, not anymore; she supposed she did have at least one piece of evidence she wouldn’t forget anytime soon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she came back downstairs, having managed to pull on sweatpants and a t-shirt from Hans she hadn’t ever found the courage to get back, Kristoff was back to reading his book and messing with his hair. His tea sat nearby, looking untouched, and at the place next to him was her own mug, the one with a cat in a tree on it and the words “hang in there!” circling around the rim. She sat silently and took a sip, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was too focused on the book to notice her, wearing a faint frown. She wanted to tease him about the wrinkles he’d get on his forehead if he kept his eyebrows pinched together like that, but something told her today wasn’t the day for that sort of thing. Which was odd; it seemed like every day so far had been a day for that, for bantering and teasing and bickering back in forth in the kitchen before retreating to separate corners of the house, her to the bedroom and him to the sofa that still had two homemade lacy doilies draped across the back of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She took a sip of tea as she watched him for a moment, wondering if he’d look up and give her a chance to thank him again, but he didn’t budge, just kept staring and staring at the page as if it held the answers to every question in the universe. Her glance flickered down to the book, wondering what was so fascinating, before she looked back up at him and noticed a muscle twitching as he clenched his jaw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How long have you been reading that same page?” she asked before she could stop herself, and he let out a heavy sigh, his head bowing lower for a moment before he looked up at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A while, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guess you haven’t had a very good day either, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he admitted, “guess I haven’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can tell me about it if you like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drummed his fingers against the table for a moment, considering, and she noticed he’d left the silver band on his left hand. Had he always been doing that? She had, just because she knew she’d lose it otherwise, but she could have sworn he usually took his off and hung it up with his keys as soon as he came in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s Rachel,” he said finally.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The ex?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna was burning with curiosity; she knew he was still working with her, that something acrimonious had occurred between them when he had first arrived, but the details were still a mystery to her. It was tempting to push for more information, but instead she held back; there was another little thing she had learned about him, she realized, that he tended to give more information when he was allowed to do so on his own terms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought working with her would be easier,” he said finally. “Because I don’t hate her, or even blame her, really. But I just keep seeing her and thinking about three years wasted. And she keeps reminding me of it, too, and how I should have known.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna frowned. “What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing, not really. I don’t know. Anyway, she keeps asking about you, even when I’m trying to work on something, and it’s getting annoying, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What have you told her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing, seriously. She just saw the ring on my hand and started asking about it, and I just sort of said ‘well what do you think it is’ and tried to leave it at that, but she won’t leave well enough alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think she’ll cause trouble with Mrs. MacLaren or anyone else at the museum? If she finds out, I mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah. The museum is sort of her baby, she wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then why not tell her the truth? Maybe she could help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shifted in his seat, glancing back down at his cooling mug. “I don’t know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna recognized that expression. She knew she’d worn it herself more often than not the last few weeks she’d been in the States, and she remembered all too well how it felt to still care about the opinion of someone who’d never much cared for you at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff was playing with his ring now, sliding it up and down before pulling it off entirely and flipping it between his fingertips. Without quite meaning to, Anna reached over and set her hand atop his, stilling them. He looked up at her again, and she could have sworn she heard the breath catch in his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is there something I can do to help?” she asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I’m alright. Just got to work through it on my own, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure? I feel like I sort of owe you a favor now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t, really,” he said quickly. “I’m happy to help anytime you need. I owe you a bigger favor, anyway, for going along with all this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay. I always did like drama class in school. It’s sort of fun, really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He raised an eyebrow, intrigued, and she went on, hoping to tease a smile out of him. “Like today at the clinic? I was waiting to be seen, and this mum with a baby with colic or something asked if I had kids of my own, and I said ‘no, not yet, but we’re trying, my husband’s always wanted some but I’m a bit nervous about it, really’, and she said ‘oh, what for’?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There it was, that familiar little twitch at the corner of his mouth. “And what did you tell her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna felt a smile beginning to form on her own face. “I told her ‘well, you see, he’s so bloody tall I’m worried about how big the baby would be, if you catch my drift’, and she laughed herself silly and said ‘don’t worry, darling, you wouldn’t believe how much their little heads can squish, Charlie here was a proper conehead for six weeks’. Can you believe it? Just telling an absolute stranger that her son had come out all </span>
  <em>
    <span>pointy</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p><span>Kristoff was laughing now, so hard his cheeks were starting to turn red, and she couldn’t help but feel a little proud of herself that she’d cheered him up so quickly. “Poor kid.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“I know,” she said, dissolving into giggles of her own. “Didn’t have the heart to tell her that it definitely still hadn’t rounded out quite yet.”</span></p><p>
  <span>He let out an ungraceful snort as he took a sip of tea. “How do you come up with stuff like that so fast? I wish I could do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shrugged. “Don’t know. Just...comes to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And just like that, an idea began to take shape in her mind. “Actually, now that I think of it,” she continued, “maybe I could help you practice sometime. Improvising things, I mean. It really is fun once you get the hang of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff smiled again, broader than before, and she found herself excited suddenly at the prospect of making him smile like that again. “That’d be nice.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Everybody does things in chronological order, Kris,” Rachel said testily. “I thought we wanted this museum to be new and exciting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yeah, but it still has to make </span>
  <em>
    <span>sense</span>
  </em>
  <span> to people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what the plaques and signs and brochures are for. And they’ll pick them up here, see?” she said, tapping at the blueprint laid out on the counter in the entry, the only part of the actual museum that had been put together so far, though it still hadn’t been painted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door rattled open behind them, but neither of them paid it any mind. “Morning to you, miss,” Oaken boomed from behind them where he was busy sorting through a box of donations he had spread as carefully as he could on a card table. “Can I help you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi!” a familiar but incongruous voice chirped. “Just dropping this off for my husband.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rachel turned at the same time Kristoff did to see Anna, wearing a sweater she had </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> stolen from his laundry pile over a pair of leggings, holding a brown bag in the hand that wasn’t in a sling. She raised it up then, the silver ring on her finger catching the light. </span>
  <em>
    <span>A masterstroke</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Kristoff thought, breaking out into a surprised smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, honey,” she said cheerfully, pointedly ignoring Rachel. “You forgot your lunch. Figured I’d swing by and see how things were going.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallowed hard; so this was the improv practice she had promised. Of course she would make sure it really </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> as improvised as possible; she hadn’t given him any indication that she was going to do something like this. “Thanks, baby,” he said, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Rachel stiffen. He’d never called her that, he realized suddenly, but should he have? Would she have stayed, if he had--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His train of thought was interrupted by a little tug on his sleeve; on instinct, he leaned down, and Anna pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Anyway, see you later. Love you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Love you too,” he managed to get out, and she breezed out as quickly as she had come in, fluttering her fingers in a cheerful wave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a beat of silence, and then both Oaken and Rachel’s heads swiveled to stare at him. He realized suddenly that his cheeks were burning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” he said, trying not to wince when his voice cracked, “that’s my wife.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. reception to follow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Sometimes, she was coming to realize, things had a way of working out. Okay, so maybe she had an overwhelming amount of homework, and she still didn’t have a job, and her sister hadn’t spoken to her since July, and her wrist still kind of hurt when she moved it the wrong way, and today was supposed to have been the Best Day Of Her Life and instead, she was standing in the freezer aisle at Tesco debating whether to buy two pints of ice cream or three, but at least Kristoff was proving to be a pretty good roommate, all things considered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This morning, for example, she had been up much earlier than usual, and she hadn’t even had to ask him to make enough coffee for two people because he always did, anyway, so that when she came downstairs yawning and he was already grabbing his keys and getting his lunch from the fridge, there was already some waiting for her just a little lukewarm, exactly the way she liked it. It had been sort of nice this morning, though, to have it hot while she sat across the table from him, still wrapped in her purple bathrobe, and to see his expression when she had slid the invitation across the table to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s this for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s my wedding day,” she’d said cheerfully. “That’s why I’m up so early, have to make sure I look nice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d raised an eyebrow but given no further indication that he’d heard her as he scanned the invitation. “A country club, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mhmm. His great grandparents were founding members.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hans Westergaard. Douchebag name if I’ve ever heard one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s unfair. You don’t know anything about him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glanced up at her then. “I know that sitting at a kitchen table with uneven legs and a stranger was preferable to marrying him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not a stranger,” she corrected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Accidental roommate? Fake husband? Official coffee provider?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. You’re my friend,” she said, and when she saw his surprised expression she added quickly, “At least I hope you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked back down at the invitation, but it was too late; she had already seen his face begin to flush. “I guess I am if you’re inviting me to your wedding.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look at the asterisk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What asterisk?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“By the ‘reception to follow’ bit. And then flip it over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bossypants,” he mumbled, but a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth as he followed her instructions. “Oh my god, is this really how you write?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up. I just had a tragic injury.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two weeks ago. What’s this supposed to say?”</span>
</p><p><span>“It says ‘reception will be held at 34 Huntly Gardens, Living Room, supper provided if you tell me what you want on your pizza’.”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“Sort of presumptuous, isn’t it? Considering the living room is also my bedroom?”</span></p><p>
  <span>“So you </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> want a free pizza and ice cream party?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never mind. Presume all you like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so now she was tapping her foot impatiently and waiting for him to respond to her text. Of course she’d gotten double chocolate for herself, but she still wasn’t sure if he was a fancy ice cream man or the sort of person who willingly ate plain vanilla ice cream without even adding sprinkles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She really hoped he wasn’t the latter. She’d have to seriously reconsider their burgeoning....whatever it was. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Only</span>
  </em>
  <span> a friendship, obviously, but with a few add-ons, like a couple more trips to the museum topped off with kisses on the cheek, and once holding hands when they’d gone to the shops together and seen his boss running errands, too. That had been sort of nice, though she would never dream of </span>
  <em>
    <span>telling</span>
  </em>
  <span> him that, had made her feel all pleased and contented and </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted</span>
  </em>
  <span> up until he had dropped her hand the moment they turned onto their street and she had remembered it wasn't real. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Mint chocolate chip</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he responded at last, and she let out a sigh of relief without quite meaning to. Perhaps he was still sort of grumpy with her more often than not, and he hadn't been kidding about leaving his socks hanging on the radiator, and he was so completely, utterly off-limits it just made her want even more badly to know if his lips made her feel as good as his hands did-- but at least he wasn't </span>
  <em>
    <span>boring</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>veggie pizza ok again?</span>
  </em>
  <span> she sent as she waited to check out, and added quickly </span>
  <em>
    <span>no onions ofc.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You remembered :)</span>
  </em>
  <span> he said, and she told herself it wasn't a real smile so it didn't count, but she grinned the whole way home anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d reassured her that morning that it was more than fine to have the “party” in the living room-- “just promise not to get crumbs on my blanket or else I’ll...I’ll...okay, let me finish my coffee and I’ll think of something”-- but still it felt invasive, somehow, to be in there without him at her side. She didn’t even go in very often when he </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> there, and likewise, he avoided the upstairs bedroom. But the TV was in here, and she figured one of the most important parts of a “thank goodness I’m not getting married today” party was watching romantic comedies and booing all the cheesy parts, and so she squared her shoulders and marched in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d carefully folded his blanket and pillow and set them on the end table, like he did every morning as soon as he woke up because he was maybe a little bit insane. He’d left his suitcase open at the far end of the room; he’d decided to forgo buying his own storage furniture in case Mrs. MacLaren ever dropped by and questioned it, and so his winter clothes were packed away in the dresser upstairs, and he kept only what he needed down here. Apart from that, the room still could have belonged to an elderly Scottish widow, complete with the doilies draped over the furniture and a painting of a blue-eyed Jesus above the TV. That was the only modern thing in the room-- the TV, not the Jesus, which might have actually been older than the house itself. Anna had wondered aloud once why an elderly lady with glasses thick enough to magnify her eyes would spend so much money on a flatscreen, and Kristoff had shrugged and said, “She’s a millionaire and never misses an episode of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Coronation Street</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Guess that’s reason enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you know that?” Anna had asked, surprised. “The </span>
  <em>
    <span>Coronation Street</span>
  </em>
  <span> part, I mean, I already knew she was funding the museum.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She comes by almost every day to check on our progress and catches me up on it. And asks about ‘my sweet little wife’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what do you tell her?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That she’s little and sweet as ever,” he’d said matter-of-factly, and despite herself, she had blushed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not either of those things,” she had protested. “You’re just a giant, and I’m grumpier than you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. I’ll make sure to tell her next time about how fussy you get if I don’t put enough sugar in your tea or if I take too long in the shower.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’d better,” she’d said, doing her best to scowl, and then they had both burst into laughter and gone back to eating their breakfasts in companionable silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna blinked and caught sight of her reflection in the TV and realized she’d been standing there daydreaming for God only knew how long and that she was wearing the sort of dopey, lovesick smile that hadn’t left her face the first few weeks she’d been with Hans, to her sister’s chagrin. “Not this time,” she said softly to herself as she turned away. “Not going down that road again.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>"Is this the 34 Huntly Gardens where the party's happening?" Kristoff called as he shut the door behind him. "Seems pretty quiet for a wedding reception."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, you've just missed the conga line," Anna said as he came into the living room from where she was lying on the floor with her legs up against the sofa. He tried not to notice the way it made her t-shirt ride up, revealing a sliver of freckled skin, and instead focused on the idle circles she was drawing in the air with a foot encased in a fuzzy red sock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Looks like I'm right on time for the yoga lesson, at least," he said, and she laughed and moved to sit up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And for pizza, too. Deliveryman's not been gone five minutes, should still be warm. And I've been very patient, didn't even open the box for a peek."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You saintly little thing, you. I brought two bottles of wine."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She grinned up at him and held out a hand. For a heart-stopping moment, he thought maybe she wanted him to hold it, then he realized she just wanted help getting up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thanks much," she said cheerfully as soon as she was on her feet. "For the assist and the wine."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"'Course," he muttered, following behind her and kicking himself for having such a ridiculous thought even if he hadn't acted on it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Haven't settled on a film yet," she said, pulling down a couple of glasses. "So you can pick."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What sort of film?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Terrible romantic comedy. So we can boo and throw popcorn at the screen when they say cheesy stuff."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What he wanted to say was </span>
  <em>
    <span>how did I get so lucky in the fake wife department</span>
  </em>
  <span> or </span>
  <em>
    <span>woman after my own heart</span>
  </em>
  <span> or even just </span>
  <em>
    <span>sounds fun, Anna,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but instead he went for "Do we really need glasses and plates? I thought this event definitely seemed like a bottle-and-box sort of thing."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Man after my own heart," she said happily, patting his arm absentmindedly after setting the glasses back down, as if she hadn't just knocked the breath out of his lungs. "Come on, then, you carry the pizza and I'll get the ice cream, yeah?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But it's going to melt."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Then eat it faster."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was how everything seemed to be with her; everything was always a rush, a mad dash to whatever outcome she had set her mind to, and he was left scrambling in her wake to try and piece together what the hell had just happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, God help him, he loved every minute of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shit! Forgot the popcorn," Anna groused, hopping back to her feet from where she had perched on the arm of the sofa.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"'S'okay, seriously. I'm pretty sure half a pizza and a pint of ice cream each is plenty."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She bit her lip, that way that always made him want to pull it free and kiss her. "You sure? I don't want to be a bad party hostess."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're the bride, aren't you? So you're just meant to sit back and enjoy yourself."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To emphasize his point, he unscrewed both bottles of wine-- nothing but the best five pound white in the Bjorgman-Delle household-- and passed her one. "Cheers," he said, holding out his own bottle to clink its neck against hers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna laughed at that. "It's a reception, so we should make proper toasts."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Alright, then. To the best fake marriage I've ever had."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"To the best fake husband a fake wife could ask for."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To cover his flush, he took a long swig, and she followed. "To you," he said lamely, but she beamed anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This is loads more fun than my real wedding would have been, anyway," she commented, sitting cross-legged at the opposite end of the sofa from him and grabbing a slice of pizza. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You can't be serious. This is just stupid roommate stuff. We could do it anytime you want."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment she paused, a little sparkle he hadn't ever seen before in her eye, before she shrugged and took another swig of wine. "Country club thing, like the invite said."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why'd you still have it?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Had a few mockups of the final design still in my backpack. Didn't even realize they were still in there til last night."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment he was silent, debating making a joke about her lack of organization or changing the subject entirely and asking if she still wanted to watch a movie. Instead he asked quietly, "How fast did you leave, Anna?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She finished her slice of pizza, taking her time for once, before meeting his eye again. "Fast."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leaned back against the sofa cushion, considering, before sighing and admitting, "I proposed to Rachel after we were together three years and planning to move up here, and she turned me down."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna leaned closer to him, eyes wide. "No shit?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll trade you. Shitty relationship story for story."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And take a swig for everything that makes you think 'damn, that sucks'."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. So did that story just count?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yup,” she said and took a drink. “Hans proposed to me before ever saying he loved me. And I said yes anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff drank and wiped the back of his mouth with his hand. “I thought Rachel and I were on a break and that when I moved up here we’d get back together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna raised her eyebrows, clearly wanting more of the story, but when he nodded towards her bottle, she sighed and took a drink. “I asked him why he wanted to marry me, and he said ‘Mr. and Mrs. Westergaard’ sounded better than ‘Hans Westergaard and his date Anna’. He said it made me sound like an escort.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you </span>
  <em>
    <span>were </span>
  </em>
  <span>an escort.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her cheeks turned pink. “An </span>
  <em>
    <span>escort</span>
  </em>
  <span> escort, Kristoff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He flushed, too, and took a long drink to cover it. “Anyway, when I got here and opened the door with the key she’d mailed me, she and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jeremy</span>
  </em>
  <span> were on the sofa, completely unclothed and, ah…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Engaged in coitus?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How does alcohol make you sound smarter?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She burped ungracefully. “I’m always smart. But Hans didn’t like that, so I tried not to be for a while there. When he saw my acceptance letter to St. Andrews he went ballistic, even though I didn’t actually plan on going at first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff scowled at the thought of someone making Anna-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> Anna, his already fuzzy brain insisted-- feel that way. “I’d like to have a word with that bastard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, luckily for us all he’s still home in Boston. But thank you, anyway, for being ready to defend my honor. But back to Rachel-- you really had no idea?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“None. Which was the problem, apparently. I was supposed to have figured out she didn’t love me and that ‘let’s take a step back’ meant ‘relationship over’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t mean that, though. It just means ‘let’s take a step back’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Well, at least the jewelry store had a generous return window.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna took a long drink before crawling down the sofa and kneeling beside him. He swallowed hard as he looked up at her and the sudden determination in her crystalline blue eyes. “I wish you told me that before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’dve been doing more than just bringing you lunch and kissing your cheek.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His heart was beginning to race. “Like what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her brow furrowed as she tried to think through it. “I...don’t know what yet. But something good. But now that I know that, I promise I’m gonna be the best fake wife ever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re doing pretty good so far.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tipped her head back and laughed, the sound so lovely he had to fight the urge to wrap his arms around her waist and tug her closer to his chest. “You charmer, you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I try.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna grinned and ruffled his hair. “Well, enough feeling sorry for ourselves, I think. Let’s pick a movie, eh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could tell her </span>
  <em>
    <span>no, actually, let’s just keep talking</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she’d scooted back to her end of the couch and was peeling open her ice cream. “I think they’ve got </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Proposal</span>
  </em>
  <span> on Netflix now, actually,” she said, not even glancing back at him as she grabbed a spoon and took a massive bite of already melty ice cream. “Have you seen that one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Put it on, then. Bride’s choice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well. It was her wedding day, after all, and so he put the movie on and settled back with another slice of pizza and tried not to think about how close he had come to finding out what, exactly, being the best fake wife ever entailed, and if it might mean he would get the chance to give her a real kiss before long.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>When he woke up at half-past three, his first thought was </span>
  <em>
    <span>why does someone have their hand under my shirt</span>
  </em>
  <span>? The second was </span>
  <em>
    <span>damn, I really need to pee</span>
  </em>
  <span>, followed shortly by the third: </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh, it’s just Anna, so that’s alright</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He got stuck on that one for a minute as his eyes adjusted to the lack of light and he took in the sight of her squished between the back of the sofa and his side, her hair obscuring her face entirely as it spilled over his chest and brushed up under his chin-- and that little hand, rucking up the hem of his shirt and resting on his stomach. On instinct, he tensed his abs, just in case she was awake enough to notice the slight softness there and be disappointed by it, and only then did he remember that he wasn’t supposed to care whether Anna liked the way he looked-- much less the way he </span>
  <em>
    <span>felt</span>
  </em>
  <span>-- at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Remembering that second thought again, he raised up on his elbows and eased his way out from under her, each movement slow and even so he didn’t wake her up. He needn’t have worried, though; the moment he was on his feet she let out a faint snore. A soft chuckle escaped him; he couldn’t help but linger for a moment and take in the sight of her, all sleep-mussed and still flushed from the wine. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It would be awfully easy to fall in love with her</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>if everything else were different. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But things were the way they were, and anyway, if they</span>
  <em>
    <span> weren’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>that way then he wouldn’t know her at all, and so he turned and walked away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he came back down, scratching absentmindedly at the stubble on his jaw, she was sitting up and rubbing at her eyes. “Kris?” she asked, her voice thick with sleep. “Is everything okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His heart lurched at the sight of her, all rumpled and soft and sounding so sweetly concerned. “Yeah, it’s all good, except you fell asleep in my bed. Sort of breaking a roommate cardinal rule, eh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She blinked up at him for a moment, blue eyes widening as his words sank in. “Oh! Oh-- sorry, I-- I didn’t mean to-- let me get out of your way, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her voice suddenly sounded so </span>
  <em>
    <span>small</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and he loathed himself for it. “No, Anna, it’s fine, seriously, I was just kidding.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shook her head, already scrambling to her feet. “No, god, it’s not. I’m so sorry, Kristoff, I really didn’t mean to--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Anna</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he said, reaching forward to set a gentle hand on her shoulder. She froze and looked down at it, as if she hadn’t just been nestled up against his side with a hand pressed to his bare skin. “It’s okay, seriously. I’m not mad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some of the tension drained from her as she met his gaze. “Okay. Well, um, thank you, then, for...that. Because you have a right to be mad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You just dozed off. We both did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I...was I </span>
  <em>
    <span>cuddling</span>
  </em>
  <span> you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um. A little bit. But it’s fine,” he added quickly, seeing her cheeks turn red. “I didn’t mind. Not much, anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d meant it as a joke, but it had clearly been the wrong thing to say. Her eyes slid away from his as she stepped back from his hand. “Well. Sorry. It...it won’t happen again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>God, but he wanted it to; okay, so maybe he was just lonely, desperate for any kind of affection, but still-- “Anna, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I was just...teasing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, you seemed pretty comfy. You could...you could stay if you wanted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neither of them spoke for a long moment. He watched her take a deep breath, then another, as she fiddled with the hem of her shirt, still not looking at him. “I don’t...I don’t think that’s a good idea, Kris.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” he said, and now his voice was the one sounding small. “Well, um, good night, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded, still not looking at him as she headed towards the stairs. “Good night.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you johanna / jericks3 / reindeersweaters for the drinking game idea!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. the new normal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>so sorry for the delay! i needed to rework the plot a bit and so now i’m not sure how long this will be after all. for those who don’t follow me on tumblr, the delay is also due to me being sick and out of the country and then having to leave the country because of coronavirus. so i actually wrote and am now posting this on a plane! hopefully future updates will come much faster since i’ll be in quarantine for 14 days 🙃</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Anna woke up an hour earlier than normal, horrendously hungover with a headache so bad even the faint light coming through the blinds made her squint. She padded downstairs in spite of it, making sure to skip the creaky step, in the hopes of getting a chance to make </span>
  <em>
    <span>Kristoff’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> coffee for once instead of the other way around in an attempt to convey once again how sorry she was for invading his personal space the night before. She poked her head into the living room to see if he was up yet, only to find the sofa empty and the blanket already neatly folded and stashed under the coffee table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well. So this was the new normal, then.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She swallowed her disappointment and stepped into the kitchen, where she found a half-full pot of coffee left for her, like always, though this time there was a blue sticky note attached to the carafe covered in tiny, neat handwriting.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sorry again for last night. Would have told you in person except I have to get an early start today making phone calls and visiting donors. Rachel coming with me-- wish me luck. Left you some hashbrowns in the fridge in case you’re as hungover as I am.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Kristoff</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It felt like a rebuke somehow, and it stung. She really hadn’t meant to fall asleep on him like that, even if she had caught herself fantasizing about it more than once in recent weeks, about how gently his hands had unbuttoned her dress when she’d sprained her wrist and how sturdy his shoulder felt under her hand when she leaned up to kiss his cheek. But there were limits, she knew, and important ones, too, that kept them from using each other as a rebound and losing a good roommate in the process.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More than that now, though; they were friends, and good ones, too, or at least she hoped they were. Perhaps that had changed now, though, now that she’d-- what had he called it, breaking a roommate rule?-- and finally found out what it felt like to be held by him. And maybe she deserved it, really, what was sure to become a new distance between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because, though she hardly wanted to admit it to herself, though she hadn’t meant to fall asleep like that, she had woken up at some point and realized what she was doing, that she was nestled against him with her head tucked against his neck the way Hans had always hated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And she had smiled and gone back to sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is what happens</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought furiously to herself as she flung the door open and stared at the carefully plated hashbrowns, </span>
  <em>
    <span>when you let yourself get carried away because you’re lonely and bored and you read too many books. You should have learned your goddamn lesson with Hans, shouldn’t you? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It sure as hell didn’t help that he was so </span>
  <em>
    <span>good </span>
  </em>
  <span>to her, leaving her breakfast and coffee and laughing at her rambly stories. She wasn’t sure if the hangover or the sight of the breakfast he’d left for her was making her stomach turn, but either way it had completely ruined her normally insatiable appetite. She shut the door a little harder than necessary and put the kettle on for a cup of tea; that was all she had the stomach for-- or at least she did until she remembered how quickly he’d memorized exactly how she liked to drink it and taken such care with making hers ever since.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a groan, she pulled down a glass and filled it with water. She went to rummage in the drawer for the paracetamol, but her eyes landed on another post-it on the counter with a scribbled note and two tablets on it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We're out after these two. Can you pick up more while you're out today? Thanks :)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna stared morosely at the note long after she'd swallowed the pills. God, she was well and truly </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucked.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Twenty quid?" Dr. Oaken asked, his expression inscrutable. "A whole day of soliciting donations in one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in the whole country, and that's all you managed?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And a sporran," Rachel supplied helpfully. "That's either from the 1740s or 1940s, he couldn't remember."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Christ on a cracker," Oaken muttered. "We're behind and over budget already. At this rate the museum'll never even open. You're serious-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>twenty quid</span>
  </em>
  <span>?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"At least it's not in coins anymore," Kristoff said, shifting awkwardly in his seat."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"...what?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He'd gotten too used to Anna and her wicked sense of humor, the ease with which she found something to laugh about in every situation. But Oaken and Rachel's eyes were trained on him now, the former confused and the latter incensed, and it was too late now to back out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It was from an elderly lady's change jar. She said she didn't want to bother carrying it to one of the coin machines at the supermarket or rolling it all at the bank, so we could have it for our homework project if we liked."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oaken quirked an eyebrow. "Your...what?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Our purpose might have been a little unclear. Her hearing aid's battery was low. But we took the jar and ran it through the coin machine at Asda, took the receipt right to the cashier, and now the museum's eighteen pounds seventy-six richer. Rachel forgot to take out the commission."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a tense moment of silence, and then a half-hidden peal of laughter came from the other end of the office. It was Ryder, the grad student from the university who was interning here and who, in Kristoff's opinion, would get on very well with Anna.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sorry," he said, though it was clear from his expression that he was absolutely not sorry at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oaken dismissed them all after that, and they shuffled outdoors with their shoulders slumped. The sun was already nearly set, making Kristoff feel even gloomier than he already was. Just as he was about to mutter a goodbye, Rachel said, "It's us, you know. They can tell there's bad blood between us. Makes all of them uncomfortable, they want to get us back out of their living rooms quick as they can. And half of them already donated anyway, so it's an uphill battle even before we sit there refusing to even look at each other."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff gave a half-hearted shrug, not wanting to look at her even now. "Not like we can just unbreak up, can we? 'Specially not now that you're with Jeremy and I'm married to Anna."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rachel's fingers tightened around the strap of her purse. "I know that," she said, clearly struggling to keep her tone neutral, "but maybe we can...move on from it. Forgive each other."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>what the hell have I got to apologize for?</span>
  </em>
  <span> but it was really getting late, and he'd been antsy all day to get home to Anna and make sure she didn't hate him now, and so instead he shrugged and said. "Okay. Fine. We're good, then. Back to being friends."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her shoulders sagged in relief. "I am sorry for how it panned out."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, me too."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And I've really missed you, Kris. Being friends with you. You've always been such a good listener, and you always know what to say."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I try," he mumbled, unsure why his cheeks were heating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do you-- do you fancy getting a drink or something? My treat. Maybe we could plan out our new strategy for tomorrow or something."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had drawn closer as they spoke, and she was nearly within kissing distance of him now. "No," he said, fighting back the tide of nostalgia, "Anna's making a tart or something, and she asked me to pick up some ice cream to go with it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was only half a lie; she had been pondering taking up baking for a few weeks now and had seemed particularly interested in a recipe for a strawberry tart. And he'd been planning on getting ice cream anyway as a peace offering just in case.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rachel's expression soured for only a moment before she rearranged her features into a benevolent smile. "How sweet. Lucky you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I am lucky," he said, snatching a rare opportunity to be the one getting under </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> skin. "She's a great cook. Maybe next time she brings me lunch I'll have her bring in extra for you to try."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm on a special diet now, sorry," Rachel said, her eyes hard despite her sweet smile. "Supposed to increase fertility. Never too soon to start thinking about it, is it?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was speechless for a moment; that had been one of their recurring arguments, how he wanted to talk about the future, whether they wanted the same things or not, and she had always adamantly refused to give him a straight answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To his surprise, though, when he didn't respond, Rachel sighed and deflated somewhat. "Sorry. That was below the belt."</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Literally</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Anna would have said, and he would have laughed, but she wasn't here, and so he shrugged and said, "It's alright. Just going to have to get used to being friends again, I guess. I really do have to get going, though."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Right," she said with a firm nod, at last taking a step back from him. "Enjoy your tart. Tell Anna I said hello, yeah?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah. Tell Jeremy I said the same."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I will. Um, bye, then," she said, looking like she was teetering on the verge of saying something else before she spun quickly on her heel and walked away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff shoved his hands in his pockets and headed home, trying to puzzle out whether the sudden ache in his heart should be taken seriously or not.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>When the front door creaked open, Anna’s whole body tensed. This was it, then, the moment of truth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Kris,” she called, her heart beginning to pick up speed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” he called back, flatter than usual, and instead of coming into the kitchen like he always did after work to commiserate with her over cups of tea, she heard him shuffle through his suitcase before going up the stairs and turning on the shower. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She closed her eyes tight, willing herself not to take it personally. Except it was pretty personal, wasn’t it? That he’d gone morning and evening without coming face to face with her the day after she’d fallen asleep in his arms and he’d told her it was breaking a rule and then—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then told her she could stay. That was what was confusing her. Why would he say that when he was now so uncomfortable with her that he couldn’t bear the sight of her?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A new thought struck her: perhaps the </span>
  <em>
    <span>lack</span>
  </em>
  <span> of continued more-than-friendly cuddling was what had embarrassed him. Maybe he’d thought she was rejecting him, that she hadn’t liked it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(She’d liked it very much, in fact, enough that she’d daydreamed about it all through her poetry workshop rather than listening to Ben ramble on in iambic pentameter about how life changing the week he’d spent in Africa was.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well. That, at least, she could remedy. She’d turned him down because she’d thought it would just lead to trouble for her if she ended up, god forbid, convincing herself she had fallen in love with another man at the barest sign of potential interest. But if </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> already liked </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was all very middle school, really, but it was enough to bring a smile to her face as she turned with renewed vigor to the fridge. Kristoff was the better cook of the two of them beyond a doubt, but she did at least make excellent brownies. From </span>
  <em>
    <span>scratch. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They were already in the oven when at last he came in, his hair still damp, wearing the green St. Andrews hoodie she’d talked him into buying their first weekend together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” he said, his face coloring when he saw the ignored, now-cold mug of tea on the counter, lots of milk and no sugar just the way he liked it. “Just...needed to clear my head.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna quirked an eyebrow. “Of what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stuff,” he said as he crossed to the fridge and opened it. “You didn’t eat the hash browns?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Too hungover. Would have puked them right up, and we just mopped Tuesday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gross. Works out for me, though, I guess,” he said, pulling out the plate and sticking it in the microwave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Make sure to have some veg with your supper or you’ll get scurvy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was yours, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cheese toastie and a Mars bar.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And your veg was…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two gummy vitamins.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He</span>
  <em>
    <span> tsked</span>
  </em>
  <span> at that and pulled his plate from the microwave. “What am I going to do with you, Anna?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was quiet for a long moment, watching him from behind as he ate standing right there at the counter. He looked tired somehow, in a way she hadn’t seen before, as if he hadn’t slept a wink the night before— but there was more to it than that, she was sure of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wrung her hands as she said hesitantly, “Kris— I— are we alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t respond for a moment, just set his fork down without looking at her. “I really am sorry I teased you last night. And if you— if you thought I was trying to pull a move. I wasn’t, really. It was just...you were so comfortable, I felt bad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was her turn to be silent for a moment. “Wait, what? No, it’s— it’s me who needs to apologize for, you know, crossing boundaries and all that. Your space is your space, whether it’s your room or just, you know, you, and I was, you know, encroaching on that. Oh, god, I’ve just said you know a dozen times, haven’t I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gave her a crooked grin. “It’s alright. I’m glad neither of us is mad at the other.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me, too. Otherwise I’d have to eat this whole pan of brownies myself just to spite you, and I don’t even want to think about how many gummy vitamins I’d have to take to make up for that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t think that’s how that works,” he said drily before taking another bite of hash browns. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was still something weighing on him, though; the smiles were sliding off his face almost as quickly as they appeared. “How was work?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugged, stabbing a little too forcefully at a stray potato. “It was the usual.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Talking to old people and Rachel?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Did she imagine that twitch at the corner of his jaw?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His only response was another shrug. Anna cleared her throat. “You can tell me when something’s bothering you, you know. We’re friends, aren’t we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So...yeah. I mean...you don’t have to. But I’m here if you want. Don’t have to keep it all locked up inside.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had finished his plate by the time he spoke again. “It’s just...not going well. Fundraising, and getting more items donated. Even with us door to door canvassing, since it’s me and Rachel, it’s just...I don’t know. You know how I am with people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Grumpy and sort of awkward and so sarcastic people never know how to respond?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus. Bit harsh, don’t you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like you just fine that way,” she proclaimed, and both of them reddened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, anyway, you’re right. And Rachel’s normally much better than me, but with all the tension between us, it’s just...bad. No one wants to let us in the door in the first place, never mind the check.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry. Have you guys...talked it out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed and scrubbed at his face. “We did, kind of, yeah. That’s the other thing. I...I don’t know. I think...I think she knows she made a mistake getting with Jeremy instead of me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” Anna asked nonchalantly around the lump that had suddenly risen in her throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. And she...I don’t know. I think she’s trying to play nice again. She’s not good at it yet, but it’s just...it reminded me of how things were with her. In the early days, when we were just wrapped up in each other and completely disgusting. And I miss that sometimes. Like tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm,” she said noncommittally. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff met her gaze hesitantly. “Do you...do you ever feel like that about Hans?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” she found herself saying without even having to think about it. “I— no.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wished she did. She’d been with him two years, had been set to marry him, for god’s sake, and yet she couldn’t say there was any part of her that missed him. All the love she’d thought she’d felt for him had evaporated, as if none of it had existed at all. Which it hadn’t, obviously, and she’d been an idiot for letting it go on like this. As torn as Kristoff looked right now, she envied him still for it, for whatever happy memories he held, for having really loved and been loved by someone, at least once. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, anyway,” he said with a sigh, “she’s with Jeremy still. No use getting caught in what-ifs, is there? Need to just get over her once and for all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve heard brownies are the best cure for a broken heart,” Anna said, checking the timer on her phone to avoid looking at him for a moment longer. Her heart had already spiraled down several stories below the basement at this point, and the sadness in his eyes at the thought of Rachel was making her wish she was somewhere down there with it. “And luckily, I’m willing to share.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From the corner of her eye, she saw him give her a lopsided smile. “You really are the best fake wife ever.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. dead skunks</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Anna? You up? Can I come in?”</p><p>“Mhmm,” she said, looking up from her mirror to see Kristoff peering in to her bedroom, his hair still damp from the shower.</p><p>He gave her a lopsided grin. “You still taking on tutoring students?”</p><p>“Considering I only have two at the moment, yes,” she replied, looking back at the mirror and hoping he couldn’t tell her cheeks were turning pink because he just looked so goddamn <em> handsome </em> it was unfair.</p><p>“Think you could handle some fourth grade math and reading? Oaken’s daughter, he’s trying to get her into some fancy private academy for next year, but in the meantime apparently she’s bored with her classes and acting up in school, so he’s wanting someone to do some enrichment type stuff.”</p><p>“Oaken, like your massive boss with the mustache?”</p><p>“That’s the one.”</p><p>“Of course. What days?”</p><p>“Three days a week, says you can pick which ones.”</p><p>Anna heaved a sigh. “That’s absolutely perfect, Kris. I-- did you tell him I was looking for more students?”</p><p>He chewed on his bottom lip for a second, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d unconsciously picked that habit up from her. “Uh...full disclosure?”</p><p>“Please,” Anna said, pushing back from her desk, her curiosity piqued.</p><p>“He asked all of us at lunch the other day if we knew anyone, and I knew Rachel would say Jeremy could ‘cause he majored in math or something annoying like that, and, uh...well, I hate him, so I just blurted out, “My wife can, she’s running a special right now, only thirty-five pounds an hour.”</p><p>Anna blinked up at him, stunned, and he admitted sheepishly, “So, uh, wasn’t entirely selfless on my part. Two birds with one stone, though, right? Helps you and irritates them?” When she said nothing, he began to pull back from the doorframe, looking worried. “Fuck, I hope that didn’t just--”</p><p>She shot to her feet then and caught his forearm between both of her hands. “No! No, I’m not offended, it’s just-- Kris, I’ve only been charging <em> thirty </em>.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>He pondered it for a moment, then grinned. “Well, then you’re extra welcome, eh?”</p><p>She laughed, her hands still pressing on his (very warm, <em> very </em> sturdy) forearm. He glanced down at them, his gaze lingering, and, useless, besotted fool that she was, she still didn’t pull away. “Pizza night’s on me this week, Kris.”</p><p>He did look up then, eyes wide and cheeks pink. “Aw, no, it’s fine, you don’t have to--”</p><p>“I <em> want </em> to,” she insisted. “Please, for the love of God, let me do something for <em> you </em> for once.”</p><p>His eyes softened as he looked down at her. “You do plenty for me, Anna. I mean, you’re pretending to be my fake wife.”</p><p>“Yeah, but I get stuff out of that too.”</p><p>He raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”</p><p><em> Shit </em>. This was the exact sort of thing she had been telling herself not to do, and now here he was with his damp hair and warm eyes and muscley arms ruining everything.</p><p>“Like someone to get shit off the top shelf for me in Tesco,” she said quickly. “And coffee in the morning and tea in the afternoon.”</p><p>He chuckled at that. She was close enough she could feel it rumble through him. “And you cook for me and listen to me ramble on about Rachel.”</p><p>Anna dropped his arm then after giving it one last squeeze. “Guess we’re mostly even, then, so pizza’s still on me.”</p><p>“Fine. But I’ll get the wine.”</p><p>“Suppose I can allow that,” she conceded as he turned away. “Just this once.”</p><p>“Coffee in five,” he called back as he thudded down the stairs.</p><p>She groaned and buried her face in her hands as she sat back down. </p><p>What she wanted, more than anything, was for him to sit and talk with him for an hour not because they were worrying about something-- usually Rachel on his part and money on hers-- but because they just got so caught up in each other they forgot they were meant to be doing anything else. She wanted him to come in like this every morning after his shower, not because he had something to tell her but because he wanted to kiss her before they both got coffee breath and ran out the door-- and if he stopped getting dressed in the bathroom and came to her wearing nothing but a towel, all the better. </p><p>She wanted to hold his hand not because they were in public and people might see but because she liked the feel of his calloused palm pressed close against hers, even when his fingers got a little bit sweaty. And she wanted to kiss his cheek not to make Rachel jealous but to make him happy, and she wanted to kiss the tip of his nose, too, and each freckle on every part of him, and that gorgeous mouth of his that was always curling up in a smile when she teased him.</p><p>And she wanted to fall asleep in his arms again and wake up still there, because, if she had been honest, until he’d woken up and they’d gone their separate awkward ways, it was the best night’s sleep she had in years.</p><p>“It’s ready!” he called from downstairs, and she knew he’d be flicking the machine off so that when she came down it would have cooled just enough that she didn’t have to blow on it, and he’d leave the sugar bowl out for her, and even if it took her fifteen minutes to finish getting ready somehow he’d still have one sip left in his mug by the time she got there, just enough for him to ask her what was on her agenda and to give her one last broad smile before he left for work.</p><p>She sighed and gave up on doing anything special with her eyeshadow, settling instead for swiping on a coat of mascara before standing up. It was unfair, really, that he was so sweet when he <em> didn’t </em> have feelings for her and had made that fact very plain, even if you weren’t counting all the times he told her about something else heinous Rachel had said, and she would watch his eyes get sadder and sadder with every word.</p><p><em> How lucky Rachel was, </em> she thought morosely, <em> to know just how wonderful he could be when he </em> did <em> care about someone that way. And how ridiculously wasteful to have thrown it all away. </em></p><p>She padded downstairs, still tucking her blue turtleneck into her skirt, and found Kristoff just the way she’d expected, leaning back against the counter with his phone in one hand and coffee in the other, wearing a sweater that was nearly the same shade as her own. “Look at us, huh?” she said as he looked up. “Twins.”</p><p>He didn’t smile, and right away she regretted it, saying something so childish. “What?”</p><p>He glanced down then, and back at her, before understanding dawned over his expression. “Oh, ah-- yeah,” he mumbled before looking back down at the screen. “Sorry, just-- Rachel, and more begging old people for money, and trying to pretend everything’s fine. You know how it is.”</p><p>“I do,” Anna said softly as she poured her own mug. “Believe me.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p><em> Fuck </em>, if Anna had stood any closer to him that morning, had clung onto his forearm for a second longer, he would have spontaneously combusted. It was hard enough now to stay focused on data entry when every time he looked down at his hands on the keyboard he remembered her little fingers wrapped around his bare skin, squeezing gently as she’d said such sweet, wonderfully Anna things to him, completely unaware that two minutes beforehand he’d been using that same arm to brace himself against the shower wall as he came in his other hand with her name falling from his lips.</p><p>Kristoff was flushing now at the thought, grateful that Rachel was in the other room with Oaken getting their instructions for the day. He hadn’t <em> meant </em> to think of Anna while he did it, honestly; he’d just woken up so hard it hurt after a dream he couldn’t really remember.</p><p><em> Who are you kidding, Bjorgman </em> , a wicked voice in the back of his head whispered, <em> you know good and well it was probably about her. Wouldn’t be the first time, would it? </em></p><p>(At least they weren’t always <em> that </em> kind of dream, though; sometimes he just dreamed about holding her again like he had that night on the sofa, and it was always really lovely until zombies or Godzilla or whatever showed up and ruined it.)</p><p>God, but then he’d heard her shuffling around behind her door, humming to herself, and he knew what she wore when she got ready-- that little silk robe which, as he’d learned one morning when a spider had gotten in her bed and she’d screamed until he came running, she wore next to nothing underneath.</p><p>And so he hadn’t <em> meant </em> to think about her untying that robe and the fabric sliding down her freckled shoulders until he <em> was </em> , and apparently the thought of that was all he had needed to push himself over the edge, and he didn’t even want to consider what that meant when she was adamantly against relationships of all kinds right now, and he didn’t blame her for that, would be in the same boat if she weren’t so damn <em> Anna </em>, and so he--</p><p>“Kris! Hello? Are you in there?”</p><p>He jolted in the chair hard enough that he rolled away from the desk. “Shit! Sorry, Rach, just-- just got caught up in, uh, in…”</p><p>“Microsoft Excel?” Rachel asked drily, quirking an eyebrow.</p><p>“Yeah. You know. Numbers.”</p><p>She laughed and leaned against the desk. “Ready to go knock on some doors and beg til any sense of shame you have burns away completely?”</p><p>He groaned. “Do we really have to do that again?”</p><p>“Mhmm. Until we have enough funds that that vein in Oaken’s forehead stops throbbing.”</p><p>“Jesus, please never use <em> throbbing </em> and <em> Oaken </em> in the same sentence again.”</p><p>She giggled and playfully pushed against his shoulder. “Pervert.”</p><p>“You’re the one who said it,” he said, hoping he sounded just as lighthearted even as something cold clenched in his chest. </p><p>She’d been like this for a couple of weeks now, joking with him instead of arguing, touching him at every opportunity, and while it was nice to get a break from being yelled at, it felt wrong, somehow, for anyone to touch him anymore, anyone but--</p><p>“Anna!” Ryder called happily from the front as the bell on the door tinkled. “What are you doing here?”</p><p>Kristoff was already smiling and on his feet when the two of them walked into the back office. Rachel, meanwhile, was wearing the distinct expression of someone who’s just bitten into an apple and found half a worm in it.</p><p>“I heard fundraising wasn’t going super well?” Anna said sweetly.</p><p>“Going terrible, to be honest,” Ryder said with a dramatic sigh. “These two have all the charm of a dead skunk.”</p><p>Anna giggled at that as she crossed over to Kristoff, once more wrapping her hands around his arm. He fought a blush as he smiled fondly down at her. “Well, I was wondering if maybe I could tag along today and try to help out. My parents went to uni here, so I still know a few people around town. And you’re from Glasgow, Rach, aren’t you? Or near there, based on your accent?”</p><p>Rachel narrowed her eyes, bristling at the nickname. “Yes. So?”</p><p>“Well,” Anna went on, now trailing one hand up and down his arm in a way that was making his chest swell with something that felt oddly like pride and other parts of him react similarly, “Kris told me it’s been a bit of a rough go. Maybe it’d help if I came along.”</p><p>
  <em> Dead skunks, Bjorgman. Dead skunks and Oaken’s throbbing forehead vein. </em>
</p><p>  “We’ve got it under control,” Rachel said tightly.</p><p>“Oh, I’m not trying to replace you, if that’s what you’re worried about!” Anna said with her trademark sunny smile. “I know you’re working really hard on the museum, too. I’d just tag along with both of you.”</p><p>If he was being honest, Kristoff had to admit that he was hoping Rachel would completely cave in and let him and Anna do this alone-- then again, maybe if it was just the two of them, Anna wouldn’t be slipping her fingers between his and leaning her head proprietarily against his shoulder. “I think it’s a good idea,” he found himself saying suddenly, and was rewarded with Anna squeezing his hand.</p><p>“Fine,” Rachel said, wearing a smile of her own now. “It’ll be great to have you along, babe. Loads and loads of fun.”</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. sunshine on a cloudy day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>when theres a break in the middle just. know that a few more days have passed lol</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>For the first time in a very long while, Kristoff couldn’t help but feel that things were starting to look up. And it wasn’t even a Tuesday.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>shit bro,</span>
  </em>
  <span> the latest text from his best friend read, </span>
  <em>
    <span>it sounds like she’s already into you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>A smile began to spread over his features. </span>
  <em>
    <span>you think?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“No texting while you’re on the clock,” a booming Scottish voice came, and Kristoff startled in his chair, the phone flying from his hands and landing on his desk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked up to see it was only Ryder doing his best Oaken impression and laughing his ass off. “Shit, can’t believe you fell for that!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s fucked up, man,” Kristoff replied, though he was laughing, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was strange how quickly this had become the new normal, the way the air had lightened at the museum and left everyone smiling a little more easily. Even the contractors who came in for half the week to work on the display cabinets had been fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>whistling</span>
  </em>
  <span> like the seven dwarves or something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>almost</span>
  </em>
  <span> everyone was happier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you guys keep it down?” Rachel snapped. “Some of us are trying to work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, Rach,” Kristoff said easily as Ryder, his back turned to her, rolled his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll let you get back to your, uh...research,” Ryder said in an exaggerated whisper. “Tell Anna I said hey, yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was, of courses, the reason for the change: the first fundraising outing with Anna joining them had ended with a four thousand pound check and the donation of half a dozen Jacobites’ last letters. When they’d come back, Anna beaming as she clutched Kristoff’s arm and Rachel scowling darkly on their heels, Oaken’s eyes had nearly popped out of his skull.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’d you lot manage this, eh?” he’d asked, his fingers trembling a little as he took the envelopes in hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All Anna,” Kristoff had replied, so proud he’d thought me might burst, and Oaken had offered her a job on the spot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now she was in twice a week, on Tuesday afternoons to go canvassing with Kristoff-- Rachel had bowed out after that first trip, eyes narrowed as she’d said she had more important things to do-- and on Friday mornings to call and update all the donors on the museum’s progress. She’d won over not only the donors but Ryder and Oaken as well, and now for once they didn’t spend the days working in stony, tense silence, dealing with the constant fear that one day the money really would dry up entirely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, even on days when more went wrong than right there was Anna with an endless list of bright sides and silver linings and trays of homemade brownies when that wasn’t enough. It was strange, really, how quickly and utterly one person had turned his life from what could be kindly called a fucking disaster into something, well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Anna herself-- shit, there was no avoiding it, not when he had a dopey smile plastered to his face the whole time she was at work with him. He was well and truly on his way to falling in love with her if he wasn’t there already; every time she looked up at him with those sparkling blue eyes to tease him about some silly mistake he’d made or laid a hand on his arm as she gushed to donors about the work he was doing for the museum or just looked at him with that soft smile even when no one else was watching-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it made his heart leap in a way it never had, not even with Rachel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His phone buzzed again, and he glanced back down to Sven’s reply. </span>
  <em>
    <span>so she smiles at u that much, and keeps touching u, and u said she wears the fake (not fake but u kno what i mean) even at home? bro just ask her out! </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>she’s just really nice to everyone though, what if i’m reading this all wrong? i still have to live with her even if i make a fool of myself.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>well it sounds like you already kinda flirt with her. step it up some, see how she reacts</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>you think that will work?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>it will get you a lot farther than texting me does LOL</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sven, as usual, was right. Kristoff just hoped he was right about Anna’s feelings, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was difficult to focus on work for the rest of the afternoon when he couldn’t stop wondering how he could make excuses to touch Anna when they weren’t in public trying to convince the rest of the world of their lie; maybe next time they had a roommate pizza party on the couch, he could put on a scary movie or something and see if she grabbed his hand or something. Shit, maybe he could just keep holding her hand the whole way home even once they were on their own street, or just--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bjorgman!” Oaken’s voice boomed, the real one this time. “It’s quitting time. Head home and tell that wife of yours I said hey, eh? And make sure my daughter’s not giving her too much trouble.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff grinned. That was one of the small ways he’d been able to repay Anna for all the light she’d brought into his life; now she tutored Oaken’s daughter three days a week, and according to the stories he’d already been told the two of them got on like a house on fire. “I’m sure she won’t, sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The big man’s eyes softened. “Tell her I said thanks, too. Hannah got top marks on her last maths test, can you believe it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t. Guess she doesn’t take after you then, eh?” Kristoff ribbed as he got to his feet and pulled on his jacket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oaken laughed and clapped him on the shoulder hard enough his knees nearly buckled beneath him. “You’re lucky Anna’s got charm enough to make up for you, boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was raining buckets as he headed for home, but he whistled the whole way all the same, not caring even when the wind tugged at his umbrella. He had half a mind to get started tonight on Sven’s advice, just go right in and sweep her up into his arms even if Hannah had already headed for home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he swung the door to their cottage open, shaking out his umbrella, he heard a little voice with a slight lisp ask, “Who’s that, Miss Anna?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’ll be my husband.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>married</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna laughed, and just the sound of it made his lips curl up into a smile as he pulled off his boots. “Yes, I am. That’s what I’ve got this ring for, see? But you’re not going to get me off topic again, let’s have a look at that long division.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment he lingered in the entryway, not wanting to disrupt their lesson-- but he could </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> use a cup of tea to warm up after walking home in the storm, and Anna might like one too, and anyway it’d give him an excuse to flirt with her under the guise of convincing Hannah and her father by proxy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both of them looked up at him with bright smiles as he came through the doorway, and suddenly he found himself loping easily across the kitchen to press a gentle kiss against Anna’s cheek. “Hello, darling,” he said as he pulled away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment she just looked up at him, wide-eyed, and then came to her senses all at once and beamed up at him. “Hi, dear. Do you mind putting the kettle on with enough water for all three of us? I’ve told Hannah if she gets six of eight right she can have some biscuits, and so of course she’ll need tea to go along with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m on it,” he said, smiling at the little girl and trying to ignore the sudden pounding of his heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hadn’t occurred to him until he was already doing it that that had just been the very first time </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> had kissed </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> cheek instead of the other way round, despite how much he’d been longing to do that since-- well, since just about the day they’d met. But there was no time to linger on that, not when Hannah was looking up at him expectantly, curiosity sparking in her eyes. “I’m Kristoff, by the way,” he said, holding out a hand to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lovely to meet you, Mister Kristoff,” she said, surprisingly formal for an eight-year-old. “I’m Hannah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nice to meet you, too,” he said, and then she turned her attention back to her maths homework, and he went to the stove and put the kettle on, and if he glanced back over his shoulder more than once to see if Anna was still smiling, well, that was his business, wasn’t it? And it didn’t count, not really, so long as she didn’t see.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was smiling, though, and he didn’t think he was imagining that her cheeks were still pink. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Anna?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She swallowed hard. “Well, don’t sound so surprised, El.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t heard from you in months. When you didn’t reply to any of my texts, I thought maybe you’d gotten a UK number.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not yet. Just-- you know, just WhatsApping,” Anna replied, gnawing at a hangnail on the side of her thumb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well...how are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good, yeah, all great here. You?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a short silence followed by a huff of unamused laughter. “Well, I’m single handedly running a bakery and still fielding calls from cousins asking if you like the crockpots they send for the wedding. So I’m just </span>
  <em>
    <span>great</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Anna, thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Elsa, I didn’t call to fight, I called because--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine, then, what is it you want? Money? I told you, I’m not helping you out if you can’t make rent when you--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can make rent </span>
  <em>
    <span>just fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>, thanks, I’ve got a job and a roommate and everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...oh, that’s good, then,” Elsa said, her voice almost recalcitrant. “What’s she like?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He, actually. And he’s lovely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...have you </span>
  <em>
    <span>seriously</span>
  </em>
  <span> already shacked up with some man you just met?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For fuck’s sake, it’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>like</span>
  </em>
  <span> that!” Anna said, feeling tears beginning to burn behind her eyes. “It just-- it just worked out this way, and he’s really nice and I like him and anyway-- anyway he doesn’t like me like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elsa sighed. “But you like him, don’t you? Anna, you’ve</span>
  <em>
    <span> got</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be more careful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span> being careful, I mean-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I haven’t even told you anything but his name and that he’s nice and--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that what you called me about? Wanting me to tell you that it’s going to be alright this time around? I’m serious, Anna, I told you what I thought, and then you did the opposite of it anyway, and--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually,” Anna snapped, “I was calling because I’m supposed to be writing a memoir for class, and I wanted to write about us being little kids, and I was calling to ask you what we used to call all the snowmen we built at Nana’s house, but never </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking</span>
  </em>
  <span> mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pressed the red hang up button with all the fury she could muster and slammed the phone down on the table, seeing red. She’d convinced herself somehow that talking about their childhood would rebuild the bridges they’d both played a part in burning, but instead she hadn’t even gotten a real hello.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A pathetic little whimper bubbled out from between her lips as the tears came at last, hot and thick and blurring her vision enough that she gave up even looking at the word doc she’d pulled up on her computer and instead crossed her arms on the kitchen table and buried her face in them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, because of </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking</span>
  </em>
  <span> course, the door creaked open as Kristoff came home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anna?” he called; she didn’t reply, hoping that he’d change his routine and turn straight into the living room instead of coming down the hall to the kitchen, but then she heard his footsteps grow closer and pause on the threshold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t look at me,” she groaned. “I’m so fucking gross right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She heard his heavy footprints crossing the kitchen floor, and then a creak as he knelt down beside her. “Anna,” he asked, his voice so worried it only made it worse, “what’s going on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s stupid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, even if it’s stupid, if it’s making you cry I want to help fix it,” he replied, gently nudging her knee. “C’mon, I’m your husband, right? Isn’t it my job to be here in the ‘for better or for worse’ moments?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sniffled and turned her head in the cradle of her arms so she came face to face with him and the concern in his dark eyes. “You’re not really my husband. You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to. Come on,” he cajoled, “just tell me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re gonna laugh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I’m not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sat up and rubbed at her eyes with the heel of her hand. “Promise?” she asked, knowing she sounded like a petulant child.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He held out a thick pinky and winked at her. A choked laugh escaped her as she wrapped her own little finger around his, and he grinned. “Pinky promise. Come on, tell me while I put the kettle on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighed. “It’s just...school stuff. And sister stuff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I’m supposed to be doing this memoir essay, but I haven’t done </span>
  <em>
    <span>any </span>
  </em>
  <span>of it yet. And I called my sister because we haven’t talked in ages, and I thought it’d be a good jumping off point, but it just...wasn’t good. And now writing the essay feels even harder, and I’m supposed to turn in at least a rough draft tonight, and if I fuck this up then Elsa’s going to be like ‘I told you so’, as if she doesn’t say that enough </span>
  <em>
    <span>already</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and-- and it’s just silly, I know, but it’s…a lot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff didn’t speak as she rambled, didn’t even look up from the kettle and their mugs, but when she grew quiet, he turned back to look at her, his eyes soft. “It’s not silly. That’s a lot on your plate. And I’m sorry about your sister.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighed. “Yeah, me too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned to face her, leaning back against the counter. He crossed his arms, then uncrossed them, then pressed his palms against the edge of the counter. “Is there anything I can do to help?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shook her head. “No, I...it’s just a rough draft. I just need to force myself to sit down and </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>it instead of feeling sorry for myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kettle began to whistle, and he turned away to pour the water over the bags he’d carefully set in their mugs. “I can help with that, maybe. I have stuff to work on, too, maybe we can just set a timer and work together and keep each other on task.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to do that, Kris, I--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to,” he said firmly, setting her mug down in front of her. “And anyway, it’s helping me, too. I really need to get these finance reports done.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he let go of the mug and pulled away, Anna couldn’t hold back any longer; she reached out and caught his wrist, keeping him there. When his eyes met hers, they were so soft that for a long moment she didn’t speak, letting the warmth of his gaze sink in and soak her to the bone, before she said softly, “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few minutes later, and they were both sat at the table with their laptops up, the timer on Kristoff’s phone set to ding after fifteen minutes. She was surprised at how much easier it was to keep her mind focused on writing when he was right there and could hear whether she was clacking away at the keyboard or not; if she was being honest, she’d expected his handsome presence to be more of a distraction than anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It helped that he was focusing hard, too, and in a funny way it made her feel like she wanted to make him proud of her, to see that, flighty and silly and irresponsible as she was, sometimes she could be like him, diligent and serious and whatever else it was that would make her a decent match for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>See, this is the problem with you: you’re so boy-crazy you can’t even do your homework when it’s something you love</span>
  </em>
  <span>, came Elsa’s voice in the back of her mind, but for once she welcomed it, letting the well-meaning words that had a way of lacerating the weakest parts of her flow down from her brain and into her fingers as she typed furiously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She jumped when the timer went off; had it really already been fifteen minutes? When she looked up, Kristoff was grinning. “Well done. Sounds like you got a lot of work done.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s celebrate, then, shall we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He went to the cupboard and pulled out a fresh pack of Ginger Nuts, and Anna’s eyes widened in surprise; biscuits were one of the few things they had solemnly sworn belonged only to the purchaser, and she knew he was particularly fussy about these, even though in her opinion they had nothing on a good custard cream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, she took it when he offered her one, and grinned and tapped it against his as they said “cheers” in unison. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fifteen more?” he asked, his mouth still half-full.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Or longer if you’d like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Twenty, then,” he said, and it was back to work for the both of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Three biscuits and a second mug of tea later, Anna sat back and stretched. Kristoff’s eyes landed on the expanse of her stomach that was exposed when her shirt rode up, and she blushed and tugged it back down. “I think I’ve got enough done for the night. You?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Leave the rest of it for Rachel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As much as it pleased Anna to think about </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> having extra work to do, her stomach turned at the sound of the hated name on his lips. “Well,” she said a little bit too loudly as she pushed back from the table, “think we’ve earned the rest of the night off, then. Want to watch trash telly for a bit?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you going to make me sit through </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Only Way Is Essex</span>
  </em>
  <span> again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it’s that or rewatching </span>
  <em>
    <span>Love Island</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, god, </span>
  <em>
    <span>TOWIE</span>
  </em>
  <span> it is, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna laughed and squeezed his shoulder affectionately as she got to her feet. “Meet you in the living room in ten? I want to get into my pajamas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Planning to fall asleep down there?” he asked off-handedly, not looking up as he closed out his spreadsheets, and for a moment she froze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Course not,” she said, hoping he didn’t notice the strain in her voice. When he didn’t even look up, she added, “not when I’ve got a lovely cozy big bed upstairs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could reply again, she darted up the stairs, not letting out a breath until the door closed behind her and she could sag against it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>God</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she was well and truly </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucked</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wriggled quickly out of her jeans and t-shirt before pulling on a pair of leggings, her biggest ratty sweatshirt, and her fuzziest socks. With a solid seven minutes to go, she did the best she could to wipe away the smears of mascara that still lingered under her eyes and tied her hair up into a bun; she’d long since given up on trying to look pretty for Kristoff when he saw her in the mornings, anyway, but still-- maybe if she put in a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bit</span>
  </em>
  <span> more effort, he’d notice and--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want popcorn?” he yelled from downstairs, startling her from her mopey thoughts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah,” she shouted back, already heading for the stairs, “still full of biscuits. Thanks for that, by the way. I owe you a pack.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grinned as she came into the living room; as always he was sat on one end of the sofa, leaning up against the armrest. “Don’t worry about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She plopped down next to him, far enough away that she didn’t look like she was </span>
  <em>
    <span>trying</span>
  </em>
  <span> to touch him but close enough that it didn’t seem like that was what she was doing. She pulled a blanket onto her lap, tucked her legs up beneath her, and looked at him expectantly. “Ready, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As I’ll ever be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a few minutes they watched in silence, the only noise his amused huffs whenever Gemma did something particularly egregious. It wasn’t a particularly good episode, though, and Anna felt her mind wandering back to her conversation with her sister that afternoon, how Elsa would be fuming right now if she was already back to doing foolish things like this again and setting herself up for another fall when he clearly--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff’s arm settled around her shoulders. “You alright?” he asked, a frown creasing her forehead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna swallowed hard, trying to ignore the fluttering in her chest that started up the second she felt his hand settle against her upper arm. “‘Course I am. Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You just had that look you get sometimes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What look?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” he said, looking embarrassed now, “just makes me worry about you sometimes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She drew in a deep breath and let her head fall against his shoulder, feeling it shift beneath her temple as he moved to sit closer to her, lining up their sides until there wasn’t a sliver of space between them. “Nothing to worry about, Kris, really. But you’re sweet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Just this once</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she told herself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>just this once, you can let him hold you and pretend.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She closed her eyes, did her best to drown out the low rumble from the TV, and focused instead on the rise and fall of his chest and the brush of his shirt against her cheek. What she wouldn’t give to spend every night like this, curled up against him and enjoying the quiet peace that swaddled them both, more comforting somehow than even the chatter that flowed between them, sometimes so easily she wondered if he could read on her face what she was about to say. She wished he’d read what she </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted</span>
  </em>
  <span> to say instead and let her down easy, spare her the shame of asking aloud and all this waiting and wanting for something that would never come.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a click as Kristoff switched the TV off, and then he turned beside her and wrapped his other arm around her. Anna squeezed her eyes more tightly shut, willing herself not to cry, as she set her own arm around his waist and let her head rest against his chest, near enough to his heart that she could hear its steady beat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m here for you, Anna,” he said, his voice low. “Whenever or whatever you need. I mean it, really. I’ll run the timer and feed you cookies all day tomorrow if that’s what you need.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Just this</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she nearly said, </span>
  <em>
    <span>just hold me like this and god, I’ll never want anything more.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead she nodded against him, feeling his arms tighten around her, and said softly, “Thanks, Kris. You’re a good friend.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank you mary and damien for helping me name Hannah and thank you melissa for picking ginger nuts</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. highs and lows</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Friend. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>There was his answer, then, and it’d have to be enough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are, too,” he said, trying to ignore the ache in his heart when he felt Anna relax against him a little more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If being just friends made her feel more comfortable with him, made her </span>
  <em>
    <span>happier</span>
  </em>
  <span>, then he’d learn how to do it, how to shed his feelings for her. He wondered if it’d be more like a snake, all at once, or a tree in September; if he’d feel bare afterwards or just relieved that he finally had room to breathe around her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kris? I just realized I forgot something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shifted back to look down at her face, relieved to see she was wearing that smile he loved again. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Supper. Pizza? My treat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grinned and tugged gently at the end of her ponytail so he didn’t do something stupider with his hands. “Sounds great.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, speak of the devil!” came a familiar voice as Anna stepped into the museum office. “Your husband was just telling me all about the work you’ve been doing here, Anna dear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good afternoon, Mrs. MacLaren,” Anna replied with a smile, leaning down to kiss the woman’s powdery cheek. “Do I even want to know what all he’s told you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All good things, dear, don’t you worry,” the older woman reassured her. “He’s just been telling me how proud he is that you’ve caught on so quick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna caught Kristoff’s eye; to her surprise, his cheeks were slightly red as he offered her a slight shrug. “Bless him, he’s too sweet to me. I’m terribly lucky.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His blush deepened, and Mrs. MacLaren beamed. “So glad I’ve got such a lovely young couple in the old place. Just let me know before you start knocking down walls for a second bedroom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now Kristoff wasn’t the only one blushing. “Ah-- don’t have to worry about that one just yet,” Anna replied quickly. “Anyway, lovely chatting with you, but Rach and I have to get back on with calling the caterers for the holiday party.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff gave her a pleading look as she passed by his chair, begging her to rescue him from what was sure to be a continued line of questioning about when, exactly, they planned to start a family, but Anna merely gave his shoulder a squeeze before floating past. Even working with Rachel was less painful than navigating </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least it </span>
  <em>
    <span>usually </span>
  </em>
  <span>was. As Anna approached Rachel’s desk, she was surprised to see that the other woman’s eyes were red-rimmed. “Everything alright, Rachel?” she asked, feeling genuinely concerned despite herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Obviously it’s fucking not,” Rachel replied dully, not looking up from the screen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna bit her lip as she pulled a chair over and sat down. “Do you…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I don’t. Let’s just get on with calling these people, alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna nodded, glancing down at the notebook in her lap as she began to list off Oaken’s requests for the upcoming cocktail party. Rachel flipped through tabs on her laptop, skimming each company’s information, until she nodded decisively and said, “Right. Him being a picky bastard works out for us for once. Only one place that’s got all of it, less time for us wasted on this bullshit. Don’t know why he’s asked me to help out when I’ve got </span>
  <em>
    <span>important</span>
  </em>
  <span> things to do…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think he values your...taste,” Anna admitted. “For this sort of event. More than mine, anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rachel’s eyes took on a familiar gleam for a moment, and Anna steeled herself for the cutting remark she was sure would be slung her way momentarily, but then the other woman’s phone buzzed in her lap. She glanced down with a scowl, but when she’d finished reading the message, Anna could have sworn she saw a tear land on her lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really,” she said nervously, “if you need--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jeremy and I broke up, alright?” Rachel snapped. “Go have a laugh about it with Kris while I call these people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dismissal was obvious, but Anna still moved slowly as she got back to her feet. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I really am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rachel looked up at her then, a defeated look in her eye. “Thanks, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I’ll call the people. Don’t worry about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, thank </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, then</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Anna thought, somewhat bemused as she walked back to her own desk. They certainly weren’t friends, but maybe-- just maybe--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kris?” Rachel called sweetly. “When you get a chance, will you come back and look at these files with me again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Never mind</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>It was weird, in his opinion, and to be frank a little bit backwards that Anna making it plain that their relationship was purely platonic meant that now they were more comfortable than ever touching each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that he was complaining, of course, not when it meant that as they walked home together from the high street Anna didn’t let go of his hand, even once they were out of the public eye. It was snowing, not for the first time that November, but it was the first time it was well and truly sticking, and there was a new bite to the wind; when Anna shivered, he leaned a little closer to her, kicking himself for not suggesting they take his car for once, damn the price of petrol. He’d offered his coat to her, but she’d only laughed and insisted she’d rather be a bit chilly than watch him get frostbite.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re almost back,” he said as a gust of wind blew past and tugged at the end of her scarf. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t wait to be back indoors and feel my nose again,” she replied with a theatrical shudder. “And to have a </span>
  <em>
    <span>massive</span>
  </em>
  <span> cup of tea. Maybe I’ll even put some whisky in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On a school night? Mrs. Bjorgman, you scandalize me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m still Ms. Delle, remember?” she teased. “That’s how we got away with the different names on the lease.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, I’d forgotten entirely. Shame, really, means we’ll never be able to have those fancy monogrammed towels.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll just have to do a his and hers set,” she said cheerfully as she fumbled in her pocket with the key, keeping the fingers of her other hand interlocked with his. “I think a nice purple would look lovely in the bathroom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, absolutely,” he agreed as she held the door open for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a long moment they stood hand in hand in the entryway, both of them loathe to let go until they’d begun to warm up a little bit. But as the seconds dragged on, Kristoff felt his brows draw into a frown; either he was going mad, or it was every bit as frosty inside as out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kris?” Anna asked, her hand tightening around his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh?” he asked, incapable of more intelligent speech when she was looking up at him with her eyes that wide and her thumb brushing against the back of his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it just me, or is it cold as </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> in here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I feel pretty warm, actually</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he almost said, but instead he nodded. “Definitely something off. Let’s check the radiators.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He regretted saying so immediately when she pulled her hand free of his and scurried into the kitchen to press her fingers against the radiator. “This one’s definitely cold,” she called. “Check the living room for me, will you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He did so, and then the ones upstairs while she fiddled with the thermostat panel. “Cold here, too,” he shouted down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And the panel’s gone all funny. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thudded back down the stairs and saw her teeth had started chattering. Without thinking, he put an arm over her shoulders to warm her, and she leaned into the embrace, giggling as she nuzzled the tip of her nose against his sweater to warm it. “Thanks. Think we’ll be able to get someone out tonight to have a look at it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Worth a try.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He put the kettle on while she rang Mrs. MacLaren and explained the problem, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as Anna said, “Oh, yes, yes, really he is terribly clever and good at lots of things but I’m afraid not this-- oh, your husband was? How lovely-- yes, yeah, Kristoff is such a dear I suppose I’ll keep him around anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted to move to stand behind her as she stared absentmindedly out of the window as she talked, to slip an arm around her waist and lean down and kiss the top of her head and whisper little bits of sweet nonsense until she turned in his embrace and let him kiss her properly. Instead he made their tea and waited until she turned back to him with a sigh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bad news?” he asked, offering her the mug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, just that she talked all that time and told me to call Jamie MacSomething and gave me his number, and then she said ‘oh, but he usually doesn’t take calls after five, dear’ which--” she glanced at the phone-- “was ninety minutes ago. So I’ll call, but no promises.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll call some people, too,” he said, giving her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes were soft over the rim of her mug. “Thanks. I meant what I said, by the way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That I like keeping you around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was still blushing long after she turned away to make the call.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As it turned out, Jamie MacWhatever wasn’t answering his phone, and neither were any of the other handymen they tried to call. When at last Anna gave in and called Mrs. MacLaren again, they were relieved to hear that there was, at least, a single electric heater in the upstairs closet. Kristoff hauled it downstairs and plugged it in in the living room; a moment later, when it began to warm up, Anna sighed with relief and held her hands over it. He was tempted once more to put his arms around her and use the chill as an excuse if he needed one; instead he crossed his arms and watched her with an amused smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what I always do when shit like this happens?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This happens often to you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, not </span>
  <em>
    <span>often</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but we get snow where I lived in the states, too, and sometimes the power goes out. Anyway, guess what I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Guess</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Kris.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Chop up the furniture and build a bonfire?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked at him over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. “Not </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> extreme. We always build a blanket fort.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He raised an eyebrow. “We?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ghost of something passed over her features. “Well, I do, anyway. Do you want to make one? It’ll help trap the heat or whatever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about you make it while I call the Chinese place up the road?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kristoff, we literally just came back from Tesco with groceries.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> really feel like cooking when it’s already half-past seven and you’ve only just got feeling back in your hands?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She considered it for a moment before conceding with a sigh. “Fine. Get me--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crab rangoon and cashew chicken?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna blinked in surprise; for a moment he worried that he’d shown too much of his hand, let his heart slip out before it was quite ready, but then her arms were around his waist and her cheek was resting against his chest. “Sorry,” she said, sounding a bit breathless, “it’s just-- I really meant it, what I told Mrs. MacLaren. You’re the best friend I’ve had in...well, maybe ever, Kris.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s nothing,” he mumbled, feeling his cheeks heat. “Just...good memory.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, shut up and let me be nice to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, fine, but I’m just saying, you’re wasting valuable blanket fort building time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pulled away then, rolling her eyes at him again, but he realized her cheeks were pink, too. “Go on, then, call the place, and I’ll get my quilts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An hour later, and they were both sat on the floor under a quilt she’d draped carefully over the back of two chairs she’d dragged in from the kitchen, huddling as close as they could while still having enough room to slurp down the last minutes of their suppers. A moan escaped Anna as she ate the last dumpling, and Kristoff fought back the wave of want that seemed all to eager to rise these days. “God,” she sighed, setting the container aside, “that was exactly what I needed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff set his plate aside, too, and almost immediately she nestled her head against his shoulder. “This is nice, too,” he found himself admitting as he lifted his arm and wrapped it around her. “Having someone to keep me from freezing to death. And I’m glad we’re good enough friends that it’s not weird, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, really, nobody bats an eye at having friends with benefits these days,” Anna pointed out. “And huddling together for warmth hardly counts as a benefit. Not that it’s not nice,” she added quickly, giving him a nervous glance, “but it’s not, well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doesn’t involve seeing each other naked,” he said helpfully. “Less awkward if something goes wrong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Exactly</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she sighed, sagging against his side again and letting her head fall against his shoulder. “Anyway, shall we see what’s on the telly tonight?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that your way of telling me you’re going to make me watch </span>
  <em>
    <span>TOWIE </span>
  </em>
  <span>again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! Well, maybe. Only if it’s on, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mercifully, it wasn’t; instead they settled for a documentary on Roman Britain. For once, though, Kristoff found it difficult to focus on what was on the screen, no matter how much it appealed to him. Knowing that Anna had agreed to watch this because she knew he’d like it, and feeling her relax incrementally against his side, as if she was finally realizing how well she fit there-- well. Aqueducts just couldn’t compare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When at last it was over, he looked down to see her trying to stifle a yawn and chuckled. “It’s not quite ten yet. You’re already this tired?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, fuck off. It was a long day,” she said amiably. “And I nearly </span>
  <em>
    <span>froze</span>
  </em>
  <span> to death, I’ll have you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were quiet then, just looking at each other, as they were once again reminded that this was the only warm room of the house, and as much as he hated the thought of her freezing, Kristoff didn’t know if he had the courage to do something about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mercifully, though, Anna did, and she asked shyly, “So, maybe since there’s just the one heater, and really we’ve sort of already done it, maybe...maybe I could stay down here tonight with you? Since it’s not weird or anything between us, especially now that we’re even better friends than last time. If you don’t mind, that is, or maybe if you </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> mind a little I can make a pallet on the floor and--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t mind at all,” he said, his fingers tightening around her upper arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt her nod against him. “It’s settled, then. And I’m sorry in advance if I drool on you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re disgusting,” he said affectionately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you’re stuck with me whether you like it or not,” she said through a yawn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wondered what she’d say if he told her that he did, in fact, like it very much. Instead he gave her shoulder another squeeze before pulling away, already hating the loss of her. “Go have your shower before you keel over in my lap. I’ll make the sofa up for us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bossy,” she teased as she stood up, ruffling his hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew he ought to take the opportunity to remind himself of all the reasons why he ought not to be doing this, all the times she’d reminded him he was just a friend to her-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>especially</span>
  </em>
  <span> tonight, when she’d made it so plain that being just friends was the only way this would work. It made him feel guilty, if he was being honest, like he ought to come right out and admit to her how he felt and see if that changed how comfortable she was with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then again...the way she’d talked about him on the phone today...and how content she’d seemed to be when she nestled against him…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps, he realized as he fluffed the pillows, she was doing the same thing he was, trying futilely to convince herself of something that was </span>
  <em>
    <span>decidedly</span>
  </em>
  <span> untrue. His mind was so caught up on the possibilities that it took him two tries to get his sweatpants on correctly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A sudden bout of nervousness overtook him as he heard her padding down the stairs, and he scrambled to settle himself against the pillow and look nonchalant. He peeked up when she cleared her throat and offered her a smile that he hoped did at least something to clear the awkwardness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re really sure this is okay?” she asked shyly, lingering at the doorframe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Course. Can’t have my wife freezing to death, can I? Imagine what the neighbors’d say.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna broke into a laugh as she crossed over to him. “Budge up, then. And no hogging the blankets.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he reassured her as she settled next to him, wedging herself between his side and the back of the sofa as her left half splayed awkwardly over him.</span>
</p><p> <span>A sigh escaped her as she settled her head against his chest. “We really ought to talk to Mrs. MacLaren about getting a bigger sofa.”</span></p><p>
  <span>“Why? You plan on having the radiators go out often?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. I just feel bad about you being all, well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>-sized and having to squish to fit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can’t all be midgets,” he teased, and she giggled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop making me laugh,” she said sternly. “It’s past my bedtime already.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You go to bed at a different time every night. That’s why you’re always so groggy in the morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re such a know-it-all,” she said fondly, shifting again to settle an arm over his waist and nestle her cheek against his shoulder. “Tell me if I’m squishing you, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not. Can barely feel you at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She yawned and nuzzled her cheek sleepily against him. “You charmer, you. You’ll change your mind when I start kicking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff chuckled softly. “Good night, Anna.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could have sworn he felt her smile against him as she replied, “Sweet dreams, Kris.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <span>It was nice, the next morning, waking up in Kristoff’s arms, even though her neck was a bit creaky and her nose was cold enough that, on instinct, she pressed it against the crook of his neck. He awoke with a shudder beneath her. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Anna,” he mumbled, his voice still thick with sleep, “what’d you do that for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She blushed, grateful the room was still dim enough to hide it. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “I was just cold, and you’re, well...warm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘S’alright. I gotta get up and shower anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He made no move to do so, however, instead settling back down against the sofa cushions. It was tempting when he looked so at peace like this to press her luck and see if he’d startle back into wakefulness if she kissed his cheek. And, really, she’d done so dozens of times before; would it be so different to do it now? She’d just slept in his arms, and it’d all been perfectly platonic; surely </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> would be, too, just a little way of showing her fondness for him and--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He jolted upright a little then and would have sent her flying if she hadn’t instinctively curled her fingers into the front of his t-shirt. She gasped, and his arm slid around her waist again, holding her tight to him. “Shit! Sorry, I-- sorry,” he said, embarrassed. “Didn’t mean to fall back asleep. Guess I ought to get up and shower.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s only just six forty, your alarm doesn’t go off for another five minutes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff raised an eyebrow, and she quickly explained herself. “You getting in the shower is my first morning alarm, and that always happens at six forty-nine. And I know you’re terribly punctual.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He chuckled at that. “Am I really so predictable?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Fraid so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment he only looked fondly up at her; she felt the corner of her mouth pulling up into a smile at the realization that his arm was still set firmly around her waist. “You know,” she said, as seriously as she could manage, “they say to marry your best friend. I suppose we went at it a bit backwards, but I think it’s worked out alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes were softer than she’d ever seen them. “Did you really mean it, then? Am I your best friend?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, by a mile. There’s no need to say it back, now, I know you’ve got your friend from school back home, but I--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he interrupted with a shake of his head, “I think you’ve gone and replaced him now. He’d definitely give me much more grief about cuddling him if I got cold.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that what it comes down to? Who’s a better cuddler?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, now, I didn’t say you were </span>
  <em>
    <span>better</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna laughed. “What have I got to do to improve my standings, then? I’m a very talented hair stroker, you know, and believe it or not, I’m not a half-bad big spoon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tugged lightly at a strand of hair that had fallen over her shoulder. “Guess we’ll find out if that’s true tonight if the radiator’s not fixed, eh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had the sudden distinct feeling that she was about to be kissed, morning breath be damned; she bit her lower lip and watched his eyes track the movement. He opened his mouth, a question in his eyes, and then the alarm on his phone began to blare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She winced at the sound and pulled back, half-grateful that it’d saved her from potential embarrassment if she’d misread his expression. He fumbled around for the phone and had it off in another moment. “Well,” he said morosely, “guess there’s no more putting it off, is there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna moved aside enough to allow him to get up. He stretched, wincing as he cracked his back, and she felt a pang of guilt at the thought of how much of a </span>
  <em>
    <span>literal</span>
  </em>
  <span> pain in the neck it must be to sleep on the sofa every night. Perhaps she ought to ask him if, since last night had gone so well, he’d like to come upstairs and--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll put the coffee on,” she blurted out. “If you’d like. So it’ll be ready when you come down. And I’ll do up some eggs, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smile on his face was enough to make her forget how cold it was.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Anna called between her classes the next morning to let Oaken know she’d be running late; apparently she’d finally managed to get a hold of a handyman and was meeting him at the cottage at one. Kristoff tried not to be disappointed at the thought that he’d not be getting another night to hold her like he had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ryder was out for the day, too, thanks to some massive exam, and Oaken himself was at home as well-- Hannah had caught some sort of nasty bug and passed it on to her father and his partner both. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which left Kristoff, like it or not, entirely alone with his ex-girlfriend, whose eyes he tried to avoid as much as possible. It was impossible, though, when the highlighter he’d been using to mark up the budget finally gave up the ghost. He got to his feet and made his way as quietly as possible to the counter at the back of the office; not a moment later, and Rachel was up, too, heading for the microwave with a mug in her hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gave her a silent nod of greeting and reached for the first drawer he came to, not really paying attention to what he was sorting through, hoping desperately that she’d make her tea and get out of the way. When the microwave beeped, he thought at last he’d be free of whatever conversation she intended to unleash upon him, but instead Rachel leaned against the counter, dunking a teabag slowly in and out of the mug, and said offhandedly, “Jeremy and I broke up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry to hear it,” Kristoff replied, not looking up from the drawer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Anna didn’t tell you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He only shrugged in reply. Unfazed, she slid a little closer to him. “Why do you think that was?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Haven’t a clue.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think she’s scared of what you’ll do now that you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hands stilled among the piles of office supplies for only a moment, but it was enough for her to see that her words had hit their mark. “Really, Kris, there’s no need to go on pretending when it’s just you and me,” she said sweetly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know what you mean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She reached down and opened the drawer right next to him, waving a hand over the perfectly arranged highlighters. “Really? Because you’ve been looking for a highlighter for five minutes, when you’re the one who insisted on organizing these drawers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was no use. He was going to have to have this conversation whether he liked it or not. He muttered a </span>
  <em>
    <span>thank-you</span>
  </em>
  <span> and picked up a yellow highlighter before finally meeting her eyes. “What do you want, Rachel?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The truth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gestured vaguely at his left hand. “About </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I’m not an idiot, Kris, I know there’s something off about it. You wouldn’t have shown up at my door with flowers if you’d already been planning on marrying this girl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know it was a love at first sight thing,” he said, echoing the story they’d rehearsed together. “On the plane.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but here’s the thing, Kris...your timelines don’t add up. Either Anna has no idea that you were trying to marry both of us at the same time…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallowed hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...or this is just some sham to get you your visa in case the museum fucks up. Either way, you and I both know the truth, and it’s no use pretending around me, not when I know you the way I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something hot and bitter began to swell in his chest. “You don’t know me half as well as you think, Rachel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you’re loyal. And stubborn. And too good-hearted to cheat on anyone, which leads me to think that it’s just the visa you’re after, in which case…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She trailed off, quirking a dark eyebrow. “You’ve got options now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were a thousand things he wanted to say to her-- well, shout most of them, really-- but instead he gritted his teeth and ground out, “Anna is my wife, and I love her. That’s all there is to it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least half of it was true, and, judging by the way her expression soured, she knew it. He turned away from her then, making a beeline for his desk, but before he’d taken more than a couple of steps she called softly, “Do you think of me when you fuck her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned sharply on his heel, feeling his face redden with anger. Rachel only smiled as he drew closer again. “Do you ever say my name?” she asked softly, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, there was that familiar heat in her eyes, that wicked curl in her voice, and he found himself inexplicably drawn back to her, moving until he stood close enough to her that he could hear when she drew in a deep breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He opened his mouth as he looked down at her expectant expression, unsure of what he was going to say, but they were interrupted by the tinkle of the bell over the door. “Shit, that took longer than I expected,” came Anna’s cheery voice. “But I’m-- oh. Hello, you two.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could hear the hurt in her voice even before he turned and saw it in her eyes. “Hey, babe,” Rachel said cheerfully, beating him to the punch. “I was just helping Kris find the highlighters again. He’s such a silly little thing sometimes, isn’t he?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna’s eyes were locked on his, full of shock and hurt and, if he wasn’t mistaken, a touch of anger. “Yes,” she said, her voice empty of all the warmth he’d grown accustomed to. “I suppose he is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. sealed away</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i really recommend reading the prequel about rachel and Kristoff that i wrote for this fic before reading this chapter, you can find it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24097843</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Anna knew, in her heart of hearts, that she had no right to feel betrayed, and yet it washed over her all the same, hot and bitter and heavy enough to choke on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She felt Kristoff’s eyes lingering on her as she turned away and headed for her desk; she wondered whether Rachel was watching, too, how wide her smile was after this latest little victory. On another day, perhaps, she would have gone right up to Kristoff and wrapped her arms around him and kissed his cheek and made sure her ring caught the light, but today-- today of all days, when just last night she’d finally slept in his arms-- instead, she chose to sit in her chair across the office from the pair of them and lick her wounds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was grateful for the long list of calls to make and donors to chat with that drowned out the little bits of conversation between the pair of them that floated her way. It was some relief to notice that Kristoff’s responses were mostly of the nonverbal variety, but the grin Rachel wore was so </span>
  <em>
    <span>proprietary </span>
  </em>
  <span>it made Anna want to toss a printer at her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At four o’clock at last reprieve came, though not without a final parting shot as Rachel settled a hand on Kristoff’s shoulder-- he did, at least, resolutely refuse to look up-- and said sweetly, “Goodbye, you two. See you Friday, Anna, babe?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Same as every Friday, Rach,” Anna replied, hating the way the other woman’s smile widened at the lack of fight in her voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment she heard Rachel’s car pull out of the parking lot, she turned off the computer and got to her feet. “See you later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff did look up then, a funny look on his face that she couldn’t quite place.” Oh, I-- here, let me get my coat, and we can head out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna didn’t meet his eyes. “I’m not going straight home. I still need to find a dress for the party this weekend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, so I’ll go with you, hold your purse or whatever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine. You don’t need to come.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he didn’t reply immediately, she dared to glance up at him; she could tell he was gathering his thoughts by the way his eyebrows pinched together. It was tempting to walk away and leave him before he had the chance, but she knew him well enough by now to realize that doing so would change something between them, would deepen whatever hurt had happened today enough that it left a scar. And so instead she waited, tugging at the strap of her purse, until he sighed, his shoulders curling inwards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t meet her eyes as he said, “I know I fucked up. I’m really sorry. I-- just let me make it up to you, please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something about the sudden hollowness in his voice frightened her in a way she couldn’t quite explain. Anna hesitated for only a second before crossing over to him and sliding her arms around his waist. When it took him a moment to hug her back, she knew it had been the right thing to do; she had never seen him so defeated. She was still hurt, to be sure, but she knew that the wounded pride she’d suffered that afternoon paled in comparison to whatever had been done to him to make him crumble so immediately at the thought of her disappointment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want you to make anything up to me, Kris,” she said softly. “And I’m not-- I’m not going to yell at you or anything, I promise. I just want to understand why you...why both of you...I don’t know, just...what’s going on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He let out a long breath and let his cheek fall to rest on the top of her head. “I never want to hurt your feelings or piss you off or anything, really. You have to believe me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She frowned and tightened her arms around his waist. “Of course I believe you. You’re the sweetest person I’ve ever met.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I’m not, I just--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she insisted. “And I care about you, and I want to understand...whatever it is I’m missing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff sighed. “It’s a long story.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve got time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you said you needed to get a dress, and most of the shops close in--” He lifted his head just enough to look at the clock on the wall. “Ninety minutes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I-- okay. Well, then, walk with me and tell me on the way, yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pulled back enough to finally meet his eyes; to her relief, they weren’t quite as sad as they’d been before. He looked, in fact, almost like he was studying her, trying to puzzle something out. Without quite meaning to, she reached up and brushed his hair aside where it was falling over his eyebrows. “Too bad we don’t have time to get your hair cut while we’re in town, eh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughed softly at that,  and, for a moment, she again found herself half-expecting him to close the distance between them and kiss her. But he only gave her a faint smile and stepped back. “I’ll get it done before the party, I promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He helped her into her coat like always, but for the first time he didn’t hold out his hand with his fingers splayed waiting for her to grasp it, as if he was still worried she was mad at him. Anna slid her hand against his anyway until he took it, glancing down at her with a raised eyebrow. “There’s no one here to see, Anna.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She felt her cheeks color; she was definitely reading too much into all of this, wasn’t she? Probably he’d be horrified to hear all the things she was projecting onto him-- for goodness sake, she’d actually expected him to </span>
  <em>
    <span>kiss</span>
  </em>
  <span> her. “Oh, I-- well, I just figured if we’re heading for the high street anyway, might as well start now. I mean, just in case anyone who knows us does show up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, he didn’t let go. “Good point.” He hesitated for a moment before adding, “It’s sort of nice, anyway. Like you were saying last night, you know, friends with not-naked benefits.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that your way of asking me if we can hold hands even if it’s just us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t have to look up to know that he was blushing. “I guess so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Part of her was thankful for the cold and the excuse it gave her to lean in closer to him as they made their way down the snow-dusted sidewalk. Last night had felt so full of promise, like a rose just on the cusp of blooming in full force, and now-- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna glanced up at him and saw his brows were furrowed, his eyes somewhere far away. She gave herself a moment to mourn the loss of what almost was, tucking away the seed of hope that it still </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> be someday, and asked softly, “I really do want to know about what happened if you’re okay with telling me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stiffened a little beside her, but he didn’t let go of her hand. “I know you do. It’s just...embarrassing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna nodded. “Okay,” and a moment later, she stumbled as he came to a sudden halt beside her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Confused, she turned to face him and tilted her head, but before she could say anything Kristoff was setting his free hand on her cheek, his eyes dark with worry. “Do you really mean that?” he asked, his voice earnest and pained all at once. “Is it really okay, or-- are you sure you’re not still mad at me? Or-- or if I don’t tell you, will that upset you? Because it’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just...</span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It felt like something bitterly cold had just begun to drip into the pit of her stomach, and she knew it had nothing to do with the snow. “Of course I won’t be upset with you. I’m just worried about you, that’s all, but if you’re not ready to talk about it, it’s okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hoped the smile she was giving him was reassuring; there was still something distinctly nervous in his eyes as he searched his expression, but after a tense moment he sighed and lowered his hand. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I know I’m being weird today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to go home? I mean, I’m happy to have you along if you want to come, but if you need to just be by yourself…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head. “I think I do need to talk to someone about it. To you, specifically, right now, but-- maybe it’d be good. And it’s...do you ever feel like it’s easier to talk to someone in a car or something, so you don’t...you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t have to look at them?” she supplied. “So if we’re walking and shopping, it’ll help?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed, relieved she understood. “Exactly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Back to walking, then,” Anna said cheerfully, giving his hand a squeeze as she turned away from him and began to walk once more. “And talking when you feel like it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took another block, but then he said softly, “I got into Oxford.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She bit her lip, wanting to congratulate him but knowing that wasn’t quite the right response. “Like...recently?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. A couple of years ago, for my master’s. But I went to the University of London instead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” Anna asked as they turned onto the high street. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because Rachel was going there, because she </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> get in to Oxford. And she made it...I don’t know. When she thought </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> wouldn’t get in, then she said we couldn’t do long distance, and I said okay. But when </span>
  <em>
    <span>she</span>
  </em>
  <span> didn’t, then it was ‘well, we agreed no long distance, so you have to go to U of L with me’. So I just...I just </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His brow was furrowed as he held the door to the shop she’d turned towards open for her, the words still pouring forth from him as if a dam had been broken. “And it was other things, too, before that. She got frustrated with me when my grades were higher than hers, or if I said I was too busy to come over, and-- and she fought me for ages on whether she’d meet Sven or not, and she just </span>
  <em>
    <span>hated</span>
  </em>
  <span> him right out of the gate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna was grateful to have the dresses on the rack in front of her to focus on as he talked; if it had been just the two of them at home alone discussing it on the sofa, she would have had the distinct urge to smash something. “That’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> fucked up, Kristoff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I know that now,” he said with a sigh. “What about that pink one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’ll clash with my hair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But it’s sparkly, and you like sparkly things, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She glanced up at him then and was relieved to see that some of the tightness around his eyes had faded; his brow was still furrowed, but now it was out of confusion more than anything. “I do. It’s just…well, pink won’t work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” he said, his cheeks reddening slightly. “I guess women’s fashion isn’t really my strong point.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I appreciate the help, I really do,” she said earnestly. “It’s sweet of you. But I-- wait, do you know what you’re wearing? Shouldn’t we match?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, shit, yeah-- Mrs. MacLaren’s loaning me a kilt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna clapped a hand over her mouth to hold back a laugh. “Really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh-huh. She said it was her husband’s, and she hopes it’s not too big.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Too </span>
  <em>
    <span>big</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She showed me a picture, and…trust me, yeah. That’s a distinct possibility. But it’s blue and green mostly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perfect. So blue and green things, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gestured towards another rack across the way, and she grinned and followed after him. As they began to sort together through the clothes, Anna said, “You can tell me more if you want, by the way. I don’t mind, really. I just want to know you’re okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff laughed softly. “You take being the best fake wife ever really seriously, don’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh-huh. And being the best best friend ever, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed. “Fuck. I...I wish you could meet Sven.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why can’t I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, first of all he’s still in New York.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kris,” she said, keeping her voice solemn as she laid a hand on his forearm, “I don’t know how to break this to you, but...planes exist.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rolled his eyes and tugged at the end of her braid where it fell over her shoulder. “You know what I mean. Here, what about this one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He held out a dark green dress with a flared skirt and a white Peter Pan collar, and Anna felt her lips curling up into a smile; maybe he wasn’t so bad at women’s fashion after all if he’d noticed half her wardrobe came from vintage stores. “It’s perfect.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And it’s on </span>
  <em>
    <span>sale</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he said, so proudly that she laughed and leaned up to kiss his cheek before remembering there was no one around to see. For a moment she paused, still hovering on the tips of her toes, and held her breath; she could tell he was doing the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes were so warm, so hopeful-- and so </span>
  <em>
    <span>nervous</span>
  </em>
  <span>, too, and then she remembered how much more of his story he had left to tell, and so instead she smiled and squeezed his shoulder before settling back on her heels. “Here, let me try the dress on, and keep talking to me while I change, yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will they let me back there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guess we’ll find out, eh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, there was a little chair for him to wait on as Anna slipped into a dressing room. “So,” she asked as she wriggled out of her tights, “why do you want me to meet Sven?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was quiet for longer than she’d expected before admitting, “It’s just...all the things he warned me about with Rachel, it’s like...it’s like you’re the opposite. And so I think he’d really like you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thank god he wasn’t in the dressing room with her, or else he’d have noticed the sudden tears that sprang to her eyes. “You’re not doing a very good job of convincing me I shouldn’t meet him,” she managed to get out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff huffed out a laugh. “It’s just...I don’t know if he’s going to forgive me, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna frowned and opened the door enough to peer out at him. “Forgive you? For what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glanced up at her before his eyes hurriedly flicked away, his cheeks reddening. “I mean, he told me pretty much the whole time that something was wrong, and I didn’t listen.” He scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I, uh, I googled kind of...some of what he was saying later, and I think maybe Rachel wanted that to happen. For us to stop being friends, I mean. Like now, I still text him and stuff, but it’s not the same. So I don’t even know if he’d want to come over here, or if he’d want me to visit him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna pulled back and shut the door again, once more needing a moment to compose herself. “Well,” she said as she stepped into the dress, “what does it hurt to ask him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was quiet for a moment; she knew he was shifting in the too-small chair and running a hand through his hair. “Well. I guess you’re right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m always right. That’s part of being a wife, right? Can you do the top of my zipper, please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh-huh,” he replied, the chair creaking as he got up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna couldn’t help but smile at him in the mirror as he hesitantly pushed the door open. “What do you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She kept her eyes on the glass and watched his reaction as he looked down at the back of the dress and gently tugged the zipper closed. A sense of satisfaction warmed her as she saw a tiny smile unfurl over his features. “It looks really good on you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She reached up and straightened the collar. “Will it match the kilt, do you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think I trust myself to answer that,” he said drily as he looked up again, meeting her eyes in the mirror.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment they stood in silence together, taking in the sight of their reflection. She knew, of course, that he was a head and a half taller than her and his shoulders were twice as broad, but there was something different about actually seeing herself next to him and realizing how </span>
  <em>
    <span>big</span>
  </em>
  <span> he was, and how gently his fingers had just brushed against the bare skin of her spine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not for the first time, a hot flare of </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanting</span>
  </em>
  <span> flickered through her and curled up to settle somewhere in her core, and she fought the urge to lean back against his chest and tilt her chin up to see if he’d lean down and meet her in a kiss. Instead she tore her eyes away from his, smoothed out the skirt, and said, “Well. I guess I’ll buy it, then. Running out of time to pick something else out, anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took Kristoff longer to look away, but even when he did, he didn’t pull away from her. “It really is nice, Anna. You look beautiful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She bit her bottom lip, knowing it was the dozenth time that day that she had the opportunity to kiss him like she’d wanted to nearly since the day she’d met him. And she knew now from the way his eyes and voice and hands were always so soft with her that he’d happily return it, and that they’d do well enough for a while, at least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But when she turned to look up at him, there were still shadows in his eyes that she knew were mirrored in her heart, that if she chose today there would be no going back from it, that wanting something didn’t mean either of them needed it just yet, and so instead of a kiss she gave him a smile and asked, “Want to go to Nando’s after this?”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>“Do me a favor?” Anna asked as she set down the bag and pulled off her scarf.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that kilt Mrs. MacLaren wants you to wear here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh-huh,” he said as he hung up his coat. “Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you go get it so I can make sure it matches the dress?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded and headed for the upstairs closet, finding himself for once grateful to get a moment away from her, a feeling he was altogether unaccustomed to. It gave him a moment to get his bearings in a relationship he felt had changed entirely twice over in the last twenty-four hours-- for the better, he thought, from the way they’d both become even freer with their exchanges of affection, but there was a sense of dread tugging at him as well. They had spent the night and day standing on the edge of a great precipice together, and it felt somehow as if instead of choosing to leap or leave, they had instead sat on it hand in hand and looked into the abyss below.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He came back downstairs after sorting through the overcrowded closet, kilt in hand, and found Anna sitting at the table, phone in hers, as two steaming mugs of tea sat on the table in front of her. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Anna</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he said, setting the kilt aside and pretending to be exasperated in an attempt to hide the swell of delight that had just swept through his chest, “did you really send me off just so you could make the tea?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her smile was bright as she looked up at him, though her eyes were distant somehow. “I figured you earned a day off from beverage duties. Three sugars for you, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>God, he really had meant it when he’d told Rachel he loved her, but he knew that if he said it again right now he’d mean it even more. “Yeah. Good memory. And thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She offered him another brief smile before returning her attention to her phone. He took the opportunity to simply sit and enjoy his tea and her company without the pressure of coming up with something clever to say. Not that </span>
  <em>
    <span>she</span>
  </em>
  <span> expected that of him, of course, but he expected it of himself, especially after most of their dinner conversation had returned again to the subject of Rachel and their doomed relationship.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been-- not good; that didn’t feel like the right word for anything to do with those three years-- but freeing, somehow, to talk about it with someone else, and though Anna had tried to keep her reactions in check he’d secretly been relieved to see them, to know he wasn’t weak or ridiculous or dramatic to still feel a bit sick when he thought back over it all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess the worst part of it all,” he’d said at the end, trying to lighten the mood after realizing they’d both only picked at their suppers, “is how much money I spent on sushi when I never even liked it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had gotten her to laugh, but then they had both been quiet the whole way home, though her hand had never left his. He felt guilty, in a way, for laying it all on her when she hadn’t been expecting it-- she had asked, of course, but he knew after last night they had both been expecting today to go very differently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope you know, though, Kris,” she had said suddenly as they turned onto their street, “that all those things she said to you-- about you being bad with people, and how she was the only one who understood you-- I hope you know that’s not true. You’re perfectly likeable. I’ve never heard anyone say a bad word about you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s because you’re usually the one saying the bad things,” he’d replied, trying to tease, but she only sighed a little and squeezed his hand before lapsing back into a thoughtful silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, though, as they sat together, the quiet at last was broken when she set her phone aside and gave him an apologetic smile. “Sorry. You just got me thinking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She raised one shoulder and let it fall in a half-shrug. “I dropped my whole life to come here, you know? I wanted a blank slate, but there’s some things I should have kept. And hearing you talk about Sven made me realize that. So thank you, Kris, really.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tilted his head as she took a sip of her lukewarm tea. “What things? If you don’t mind me asking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna sighed and looked nervously back down at the phone. “I think...I think my sister, that might be a lost cause. But my friends...a couple of them tried to message me, and I just...never really got back to them. It felt like I had to give them up, too, if I was giving up the wedding and my family and all the shit that went with that-- shit, have I even told you about the bakery?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head, and she sighed. “Sorry, then. Family business, Aaron Delle and Sons, been there over a hundred years. Local institution, passed down and all that, except I didn’t want it. So that’s why my sister won’t talk to me, because she doesn’t want it either, but now she’s got it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that where you learned the brownie recipe?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her lips quirked up into a smile. “No. I came up with that on my own and let them borrow it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm. Suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that if it involves chocolate you’re the mastermind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughed softly and opened her mouth to reply, but just then her phone lit up, and immediately she grabbed it. Kristoff sat back, unoffended, and took a sip of his tea. Her shoulders relaxed as she read the message, and she spent a good couple of minutes typing out a reply before sighing and sliding it into her pocket. “Good news?” he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, Abbie told me off a bit, which was well-deserved, but then she said of course she’d love to call and chat tomorrow, and that she’s sure the others will, too. So...thank you, Kris, for giving me the idea. I really...I really owe you a lot, I think, but especially for that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head. “No, it’s just part of being friends, isn’t it? To help each other. And you’ve helped me a lot today just by…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He went silent for a minute, catching himself before the word slipped out in fear that it might offend. Anna tilted her head, waiting, and he steeled himself before asking quietly, “You do understand, don’t you? Not just...that you knew what I was saying, but like you knew how I was feeling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew immediately by the dimming of her eyes that he was right and wished fervently that he hadn’t been. She nodded, just barely, and he suddenly found himself hating the table between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With Hans?” he asked, needing to know it all at once instead of letting the wondering fester within him, and she nodded again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not quite like Rachel. I don’t think he ever cared enough to put in that kind of effort.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked down as she ran her thumbnail along the grain of the wood next to her mug. “And it wasn’t as long, of course, so I know I don’t really get it, but--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That doesn’t matter,” Kristoff said, frowning. “You came to Scotland to get away from him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna waved a hand absentmindedly, still not looking at him. “It was more than just him. Really, it’s okay. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m</span>
  </em>
  <span> okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m still sorry,” he said, his voice fierce enough that she looked up in surprise. “And if he ever dares to talk to you again--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughed and reached across the table to set her hand over his; he hadn’t realized that his fingers had curled up into a fist. “It’s alright, Kris, really.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t, and they both knew it, but he sighed and sat back in his chair all the same. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were both quiet as they finished their tea, keeping their eyes on anything but each other. It felt like something was coming to an end before it had quite begun, and neither of them yet wanted to let go. The realization had been creeping up on him for a while now that whether she returned his feelings or not, there was nothing to be done about it all, at least nothing that would end well. Today had taken that idea from a vague notion to a cold reality that sat heavy enough on his heart to ache.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna glanced up at him over the rim of her mug as she drained the dregs of her tea, and a tiny voice whispered in the back of his mind, </span>
  <em>
    <span>but we’ve got time, though, don’t we?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She got to her feet. “Well. I think I’m going to have an early night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rose as well, suddenly too exhausted to even be amused by the way her chin tilted up so her eyes could stay on his. This time when she leaned in, he didn’t hold his breath and hope; he had the feeling that she had come to the same realization he had. He closed his eyes as she wrapped her arms around him, setting one of his own hands on her lower back and the other on the back of her head. He breathed in the scent of her almond and honey shampoo and gave himself one last moment to long for more before sealing that part of his heart away and tucking it aside for a later day that he knew full well might never come. He wondered if Anna was doing the same and got his answer when he heard a distinct sniff as her arms tightened around him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re alright,” he said, his voice low as he ran his fingers gently through her hair. “I’ve got you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her voice, muffled in his sweater, sounded so lost as she spoke that he leaned down on instinct to press his cheek against the top of her head, as if he could fold himself around her. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Kris.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gently brushed her hair behind her ear, letting his fingertips linger for just a moment against the smooth silk of her cheek. “You’ll never have to find out. I promise.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>yes laura, that's for you. #fuckgreg</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. the party</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Do you have any pictures of him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, sorry,” Anna said, and a collective groan of disappointment came from the three other women in the video call. “You can google him, though, there’s some pictures of him back when he was doing some presentation at uni. His hair’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>loads</span>
  </em>
  <span> better now, though, so don’t look too close at that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Got it!” Jane sang. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Damn</span>
  </em>
  <span>, even </span>
  <em>
    <span>with</span>
  </em>
  <span> the mullet he’s cute. How tall is he?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He won’t tell me, but he has to stoop whenever we’re going through an old door, and the top of my head only just goes up to his shoulder.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Abbie let out a dreamy sigh. “Does he have a brother?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. Cousins, though. But he’s adopted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Goddammit</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s sweet though, right?” Abbie asked. “Or do I need to fly over there and beat his ass?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, he’s the sweetest thing alive!” Anna said quickly. “He drives me mad sometimes with all the little things he does, makes me feel like I’ll never be able to repay him. He makes me coffee every morning and tea every afternoon, and whenever he comes home and catches me crying over my homework he knows to put on </span>
  <em>
    <span>TOWIE </span>
  </em>
  <span>and order a pizza.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what’s the hold up, exactly?” Jane asked, raising an eyebrow. “Especially if you’re already </span>
  <em>
    <span>fake</span>
  </em>
  <span> together...why not just make it real?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna glanced away from them, taking her time to put on her mascara and gather her thoughts. “It’s just…” She sighed when she couldn’t delay any longer and set the tube down. “Rachel, you know, the one I said we both work with who he used to date? She was just...well, there’s not really a word to describe her--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could probably think of one,” Lara muttered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“--and it really did a number on him. Sort of like...well, like Hans, except worse. And especially with her still around, it’s just…” She waved a hand vaguely. “Neither of us is ready for that sort of thing again, you know? Like, if I start dating again, I want to make sure I’m ready for it. Not just for me, but for the other person, too-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>especially</span>
  </em>
  <span> if it’s him. He deserves the world, really, I can’t say enough good things about him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So by </span>
  <em>
    <span>especially</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Abbie said drily, “you mean </span>
  <em>
    <span>only</span>
  </em>
  <span>, because it sounds to me like you’ve both already got your hearts set on each other.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-- well, yes,” Anna stammered, “I-- I think that’s the plan. Eventually, I mean. We sort of...talked about it, agreed no more touching when we’re not, you know, in public, and to revisit it later on when we feel a little bit better about it, and no hard feelings if it doesn’t pan out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a stronger woman than me,” Jane sighed. “I’d have jumped on him ages ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me, too,” the other two added in unison, and they all burst into laughter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The conversation turned to Lara’s latest dating prospect-- another artist, though this one did something besides taking pictures of garbage and her own ankles, thank god-- and Anna smiled and nodded along even as she returned her focus to curling her hair. She had been surprised how quickly their friendship had re-coalesced; already it felt almost like they were all back in college together getting ready for a party. Guilt still stung at her for having up and left them all without even a real goodbye, but when she’d said as much, they’d all accepted her apologies without hesitance. “We were just worried about you,” Jane had reassured her. “Really, that’s all. We knew how Hans was and that you were just worried about getting out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A soft knock came at the door. “Anna?” Kristoff asked hesitantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She slammed the mute button before her friends could start squealing. “Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you, uh...can you tell me if I did this stuff right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She glanced back at her laptop and saw Lara giving her a thumbs up and a wink. Rolling her eyes, she called, “Yeah, just a second.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tightened the belt on her robe before opening the door and coming face to face with a red-cheeked Kristoff, his still-damp hair flopping over his eyebrows. Something in her chest softened at the pleading look in his eyes. “Anna,” he begged, “you gotta help me. I just-- I don’t think I’m even getting the skirt part right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“First of all,” she instructed, “don’t you dare call it a skirt in front of any Scottish person besides me. Second of all, you’ve got it sideways. It’s supposed to be with the little flappy bit in the front but to the side.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...uh...I thought I did that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna huffed out a laugh. “Okay, um...will you just let me fix it for you? Promise not to get handsy with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the way his blush deepened even further, she knew he wouldn’t mind if she did. “Uh, yeah, just-- just do what you gotta do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taking care to keep her hands well away from the danger zone, she took hold of the waistband of the kilt and turned it until it was hanging the right direction. “There you are, then. Where’s your sporran?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My...what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The little purse thing. And your hose and pin and--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell you what, I’ll just bring everything I found with this, yeah?” Kristoff said. “And you tell me if it actually belongs or not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he thudded back down the stairs, Anna scurried over to the computer and unmuted it. “Sorry--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anna! He’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>hot</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” Jane crowed. “You’ve got to--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut </span>
  <em>
    <span>up</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she hissed, “he’ll be back up here any second and hear you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So? He deserves to hear he’s--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anna?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She whirled around and saw him standing nervously in front of her again and holding a battered cardboard box in his hand. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I didn’t realize you were still on a call.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t apologize,” Abbie shouted, “we were just telling Anna that--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That they were going to say goodbye,” Anna said firmly, reaching behind her back to slam the laptop closed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A look of amusement flashed through his eyes. “You left the door wide open.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-- well-- oh, shut up,” she grumbled, and he laughed.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Kristoff drummed his fingers nervously against his knee-- his </span>
  <em>
    <span>bare</span>
  </em>
  <span> knee, he was still getting used to that-- as he sat at the kitchen table, an untouched mug of tea on the table in front of him. If she didn’t come down soon, they were going to be late-- not that he minded, not really, when it meant spending less time surrounded by all those </span>
  <em>
    <span>people</span>
  </em>
  <span>-- but he knew Rachel would find a way to hold it over Anna’s head like she did everything else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Almost ready?” he called for the third time, and she sighed loudly enough he could hear her all the way downstairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When you’ve got as much hair as I do,” she shouted back, “you’ll understand why it takes so long to get ready. But anyway, I’m just putting on my shoes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He chuckled softly; he was sure that whatever witchcraft she was performing on her hair would be worth the wait-- and when her door creaked open and she stepped out onto the stairs, his hunch was proven correct.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His breath caught in his throat at the sight of her. A distant part of him felt suddenly </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> proud to have chosen this dress for her, but the greater part of him was too caught up in how beautiful she looked to care about claiming credit for it. It fit her perfectly, emphasizing the curve of her waist before flaring out over her hips and falling just below her knees; the green made the copper in her hair stand out even more brilliantly than it had in the dressing room when she’d first tried it on; and she wore a dainty pair of black heels that, as nice as they looked on her, made him more than a little nervous about the prospect of her spraining something again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without quite meaning to, he rose from the chair and crossed over to her, raising his hand instinctively to help her down the last few steps before realizing she probably didn’t need it anyway and they weren’t supposed to touch and--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then she took it and smiled and said, “Thanks, Kris.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anytime,” he muttered, his cheeks reddening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she reached the bottom of the steps, he forced himself to let go and step back from her. He wanted to tell her she was beautiful, radiant, </span>
  <em>
    <span>gorgeous</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that no one would give a shit about any of the museum’s artifacts when they had a work of art right in front of them, but it felt like the words were lodged in his throat, held in place by the voice in the back of his head saying </span>
  <em>
    <span>what if that’s too much?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna, however, had fewer reservations, and said, “You look really nice, Kris.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You, too,” he stammered. “I, um-- does it look stupid?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, not at all. Just-- well…” She bit her lip, looking torn. “Your tie is a little crooked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” he said as he straightened it, trying not to think about how a couple of weeks ago she would have just fixed it herself and found something else to fuss over so her hands would linger on his chest. “Thanks. Ready to go, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-- well. Can I ask a favor of you? Well, really, it’s for us both, but I think it’s a good idea and--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anna,” he interrupted gently, “you can just say it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” she said, blushing. “Well, I was thinking...we’re all dressed up, so maybe it would be a good chance to take a picture together, and then one of us can get it printed and put in a frame on our desk at work? If you think it’s a good idea, I mean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It would be. Like a selfie?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think maybe I can put a timer on my phone and set it up-- here, on the end table,” she said, going over and propping her phone up against the lamp. “So then people can see we’re all dressed up and stuff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anna, is this all just your way of getting photographic evidence of me in a skirt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Kilt</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Kris, you’ve got to stop calling it a skirt before the ghost of Robert the Bruce pops up and murders you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He chuckled softly. “Okay, okay. Just tell me what to do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She considered it for a moment, tapping her fingers thoughtfully against her chin. “You just stand there-- put your elbow out a bit, so I can grab onto your arm, yeah, like that-- then once I hit the button I’ve got ten seconds to get over and pose with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded, and a moment later she hit the button and scurried over to him. “Okay, then I--” She wrapped both hands around his upper arm and grinned up at him. “Just look at me and think husbandly thoughts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You didn’t have to tell me to do that</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought, half-tempted to tell her, to re-acknowledge the half-kindled flame between them to make sure it was still there, but then there was the </span>
  <em>
    <span>click</span>
  </em>
  <span> of the camera, and the moment had passed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna let go of his arm and ran to pick up her phone. “Oh, it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfect</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she gushed, turning around to show it to him. “And you actually smiled!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugged. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do in pictures?” he said, trying to be nonchalant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment she just looked up at him, looking torn between saying what she wanted to and what she ought to, and then instead she put on a smile and said, “Well. Should we head off, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>As nerve-wrackingly important as this party was, Anna was actually finding it all rather fun. She was in her element surrounded by all of the museum’s wealthiest donors, many of whom she’d already met on their fundraising visits and chatted with in follow-up phone calls. They flocked to her as soon as they came in the door, gushing over her dress and the canapes and how exciting it was that they could finally get a preview of the museum’s collections. She, in return, remembered each name-- or fudged her way past the forgotten ones smoothly enough that they didn’t notice-- and asked after their grandchildren and parakeets and gardens. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And where is your husband, dear?” they would inquire, and if they were the lovely sort, she would send them Kristoff’s way, suggesting they ask him about the Roman coins they’d just finished sorting or the Jacobite weaponry he was still cleaning up; and if they were the sort who preferred to gripe and ask for another copy of the budget breakdown to see how much of their donation was being spent on tonight’s bruschetta-- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why, I’m sure Miss Abernathy would be happy to answer your questions, Mr. Orwell,” she cooed. “You remember Rachel, don’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As she sent the old man and his walking stick on his way, she took a moment to pause for breath and lean back against the bar Ryder was manning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’s he doing?” Ryder asked as he poured her a second gin and tonic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She searched the room until her eyes landed on Kristoff, surrounded by a gaggle of elderly ladies wearing ropes of pearls and sensible shoes. As if he had somehow sensed her, he raised his eyes suddenly and met Anna’s gaze across the room. Even with the distance between them, she could tell he was still nervous, and so she raised her hand and gave him a thumbs up and a bright smile. He grinned in return before returning his attention to the adoring crowd before him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He was really nervous,” Anna told Ryder as he passed the drink over. “But I think he’s doing okay, don’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better than Rachel,” he muttered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Poor dear. Such a shame Mr. Nichols just won’t stop asking her about that documentary he saw about the freemasons being aliens, isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ryder snorted. “She’s going to get you back for this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let her try,” Anna said, taking a sip of her drink. “I’ll still be the one going home with Kristoff at the end of the night.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <span>As the last of the patrons headed for the door, Kristoff let out a sigh of relief. Tonight had gone better-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>far</span>
  </em>
  <span> better-- than he had feared. At first he’d thought he’d just gotten lucky that the only people who wanted to talk to him were the genuinely lovely ladies who had offered him a second biscuit when he and Anna had had tea with them, or the men who would be happy to go on for hours discussing the military history of the region, and then he’d glanced up and seen Anna pointing a particularly crotchety couple in Rachel’s direction and realized what was going on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even with that help, he’d been nervous at first, stammering over his explanations, but then he’d remembered what she’d told him when he’d admitted to her that he’d considered being a professor once upon a time. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re perfectly likeable. I’ve never heard anyone say a bad word about you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>That part did seem a little too good to be true-- but it reminded him of how much he </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> enjoyed being a TA, and how he really did enjoy sharing what he knew with others, and as the night wore on he’d found his confidence growing with each conversation, enough that now he found himself nearly sorry that the evening was over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nearly-- because now, at last, he had a chance to walk home with Anna, and--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There you are!” came a familiar cool voice. “I’ve been hoping to get a chance to talk with you all night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff held back a wince as he felt Rachel’s hand settle on his arm, in the very same spot where Anna had set her own hand for the picture they’d taken. “What is it?” he asked brusquely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just wanted to ask,” she said, her voice low, “if you’d had time to think about--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anna!” he called, pretending he’d just spotted her talking to Oaken in a corner and had not, in fact, been keeping tabs on her all night. “There you are, darling,” he added when she looked up. “Ready to head out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t spare Rachel even a glance as he pulled himself free from her grasp. Mercifully, she made no attempt to follow him as he strode over to Anna, grinning and holding out a hand. “How’d it go for you two?” he asked as she laced her fingers through his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Went off without a hitch,” Oaken boomed, his chest puffed out with pride. “And now we’ll have a bit of well-earned peace and quiet ‘til after the new year.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were just talking about how much the ladies loved you tonight,” Anna said, giving him a wink. “Should I be worried?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff laughed and ran his thumb along the back of her hand. “Not in the slightest,” he replied, so sincerely that her eyes softened as she looked up at him, catching his true meaning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’ll let you two get on your way home,” Oaken said, thumping Kristoff on the back. “But I meant it, Anna, the two of you are more than welcome for Christmas dinner. Hannah’d love to have someone to help her frost the biscuits, and Malcolm makes an </span>
  <em>
    <span>excellent</span>
  </em>
  <span> roast.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll be there, I promise,” she said, squeezing Kristoff’s hand to keep him from protesting. “Have a lovely night! Give them all my love.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they finished pulling on their coats and stepping out into the cold night air, Kristoff asked, “So...Christmas dinner at Oaken’s, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope you don’t mind that I signed us both up for it,” she said, giving him a worried glance. “It’s just he said Ryder would be there, too, and I’m no good at holiday cooking, and--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not angry,” he said quickly. “It sounds great.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighed and gave his hand one last squeeze before dropping it as they turned a corner. Immediately he missed the feel of her fingers against his and shoved his own hands into his pockets to avoid temptation. “And he seems excited for us to meet his boyfriend,” she went on. “I get the feeling they’re quite serious about each other, which is really lovely. Hannah’s mum passed when she was little, think they’ve both felt a bit lonely ever since.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm,” Kristoff said, wishing he had something better to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were quiet the rest of the way home, though he didn’t think he was imagining it when Anna’s steps slowed as they turned onto their street. He wondered if, like him, she’d spent most of the walk turning over and over in her mind the last time they’d held each other at home, what it would take for them to get back to that place and linger there, knowing that the time at last was right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blinked, and suddenly they were on the front step as Anna dug her key out of her pocket and opened the door. He followed close behind her, pulling the door shut behind him and wincing when it creaked. “I’ll fix that this weekend,” he said, and Anna hummed in agreement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He helped her out of her coat and hung it up on the rack; she murmured a quiet </span>
  <em>
    <span>thank you</span>
  </em>
  <span> before leaning up on her toes to unwind his scarf and slide it from around his neck, her icy fingers ghosting against the heated skin of his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neither of them had yet bothered to flick the lights on, and in the dimness of the entry hallway what little air was between them felt charged with possibilities. He moved as slowly as he could as he removed his coat, trying to prolong the moment. He reached around Anna to hang it up, close enough to her in the small space that when he pulled back his fingertips brushed up against her hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a long moment the only sound was the soft huff of their intermingling breath and the faint hum of the radiators as they looked at each other, and then Anna sighed and turned away. “Well,” she said, not looking back over her shoulder as she headed for the stairs, “good night, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watched her as she went, the slight swish of the green dress around her knees and the brush of her fingertips against the banister and the bounce of her hair against her back, and it wasn’t until the door shut behind her that a “Good night,” tumbled from his own lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a long while that night he laid awake on the sofa, staring with unseeing eyes up at the ceiling, turning the evening over and over in his head, imagining how it might have gone had they given in to what they wanted all those weeks ago; whether she would have clung longer and tighter to him, whether her kisses would have landed against his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How different it all might have been</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he couldn’t help but think, </span>
  <em>
    <span>if Rachel didn’t stand between us-- but then again, if she didn’t I’d never have met Anna, would I?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He flung his forearm over his eyes in a fit of frustration, trying to come to terms with how strange it was that the best thing in his life would never have come into it at all if it weren’t for the worst. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And if it hadn’t been for Rachel-- who would he have been? Would Anna have even liked that other Kristoff?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And if she had never met Hans, would she still have come here when she did? Would she have found some other man who learned how she took her tea and watched trashy TV with her and held her when she cried?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>-- if they </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> met somehow with their arms and hearts empty of remnants of the past, then even now perhaps he’d be upstairs with her, helping her out of her dress and laughing about the evening and trailing kisses down her neck and--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He groaned and flopped onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow. There was no use in daydreaming, not when it only made it harder the next morning when she really was right there in front of him. What had happened had happened, and there was no changing that-- shouldn’t he understand better than anyone how even the smallest events from history couldn’t be undone, that the impact of the past could still shudder through time and rattle the present?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There’s no rush</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he reminded himself for the hundredth time, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’ve got the lease ‘til September, and after that she’s got another year of grad school; there’s all the time in the world to figure it out.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>That didn’t help him tonight, though; all he could do for now was keep taking steps forward, hoping that one day he could look at Rachel and not feel something twist in the pit of his stomach, that he could look at Anna and feel hope unclouded by fear that it would all fall apart at a moment’s notice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reached over to grab his phone from where it was plugged in on an end table and tapped out a quick message.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hey bro, me and Anna were talking, and she said it would be cool to meet you. We’d love to have you if you want to come visit sometime.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He laid back and stared up at the ceiling for a while longer before his phone buzzed with a response.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>sweet! always wanted to visit scotland. when would b a good time?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. christmas morning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>splitting christmas into two parts lol, next one will probably be a bit shorter than usual but hopefully that means i can update faster!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Merry Christmas, Kris.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned from where he was pouring water into the coffee pot to see Anna beaming and holding a wrapped box. A huge smile spread over his face; he nearly threw his arms open for a hug before thinking better of it and turning back towards the coffee. “Sorry I’m getting a bit of a late start on this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be sorry,” she replied, coming up to stand beside him and set the box on the counter. “You’re going out of your way to be sweet to me even on a holiday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’d you get me?” Kristoff asked, changing the subject and trying to ignore the sudden leaping sensation in his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have to open it and find out, silly,” she teased as she nudged the box closer to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I got you something, too,” he said, feeling suddenly shy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna’s face lit up. “Really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course. I didn’t wrap it quite as nicely as you did,” he said with a wink, inclining his head towards the box and its three different bows, “but I did get you two things, really. A best friend present and a fake wife one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She bit her lower lip, looking suddenly as nervous as he felt. “Do you think we can make some exceptions to the rules? Since it’s Christmas?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which ones?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The no touching each other at home one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff felt his cheeks reddening, but he nodded anyway and muttered, “Just for Christmas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A moment later, there was a little tug on his sleeve; he leaned down, and Anna put her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Kristoff,” she said softly, lingering there for a moment. “I’m glad I’m spending the holiday with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could think better of it, he turned and kissed her forehead. “Don’t thank me before you’ve even opened it. What if you hate it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sounded so matter-of-fact that he couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, it’s in the big green bag in the living room. Go get it so we can open them together while we eat, yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmkay,” she said cheerfully, already scurrying towards the other room. “I’ll do the fried things if you do the toast?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Course,” he called after her, still wearing a dopey smile as he poured their coffee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was strange, he reflected, in the most wonderful way, how easily they worked in tandem together without having to say a word. He knew how much milk to put in her coffee and to wait til it was lukewarm before handing it to her; she knew he’d want three eggs, scrambled, and his bacon nearly burnt; and as they cooked they moved fluidly around each other, him silently and her humming a nonstop stream of whatever carols came to her mind. It was a bit drafty in the kitchen, as he’d come to expect in the old cottage, but with Anna there it was impossible to feel anything but warm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they sat down together, he’d hardly even taken the first bite of his eggs— </span>
  <em>
    <span>god</span>
  </em>
  <span>, no one made them like her, not even his mom— when she shoved his present across the table. “Open it, please,” she said, practically bouncing in her seat with excitement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff raised his eyebrows. “What’s the rush?” he teased. “We’ve got all day, don’t we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but yours is a morning present.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So is one of yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So let’s open on the count of three!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But our food will get—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Kristoff.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughed and shook his head. “Okay, okay. Three, two—“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!” Anna squealed, already pulling out the “World’s Best Wife” mug he’d bought her. “I love it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She jumped to her feet to hold it over the sink as she transferred her coffee into it. “You haven’t even seen the other thing I got you yet,” he protested half-heartedly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m waiting for you, slowpoke.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rolled his eyes affectionately before removing the last piece of tape and opening the box. Inside was a neatly folded, deep blue bathrobe; he ran his fingers over the material, an uncontrollable grin growing on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You always look so cold in the mornings,” Anna explained, her cheeks pink as she took a sip of her coffee. “I come in here and you’re practically hugging your coffee, so— do you like it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span> it,” he proclaimed, already standing so he could pull it on over his t-shirt and worn pajama pants. “How’s it look?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She covered her mouth with her hand to hide a giggle. “You look kind of like a dad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...good way or bad way?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pretended to consider it for a moment before laughing again. “Good, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, thank fuck. Go on, now open your other thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff sat back down as she lifted the rectangular package from the bag; this was the one he was nervous about. The mug he could pass off as a joke to make Rachel mad at work, but this--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Anna said, her eyes lighting up as she ran her fingers over the cover of the book. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>The History of St. Andrews</span>
  </em>
  <span>-- now I’ll finally understand what you guys are going on about at work.”</span>
</p><p><span>“Yeah, I, uh…” He could already feel his cheeks reddening.</span> <span>“I just...I don’t know. I know you’ve kinda mentioned before you wanted to know more, and then this way you can, you know, know what’s going on and-- am I saying </span><em><span>know</span></em><span> too much?”</span></p><p>
  <span>“Yes, but I don’t mind,” she said happily, already flipping to the table of contents as she dug back into her eggs. “And it’s a good thing I’ve still got a few weeks ‘til classes start back. Loads of time to read it. Thank you, Kris, really.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A history book, he knew, was a decidedly unromantic gift, and he’d worried it was sort of presumptuous to assume she’d be interested in something just because he was, but when she looked at him with her eyes all soft like that-- well. He knew he’d done alright.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After finishing their breakfast and tidying up, the pair of them found themselves on the sofa together, pointedly sitting at opposite ends. “Do you think there’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>TOWIE</span>
  </em>
  <span> Christmas special?” Anna asked thoughtfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff did his best to hide his grimace. “Do you want to watch it if there is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She burst into laughter. “Oh, my </span>
  <em>
    <span>god</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I wish you could see your face right now. There’s not, I promise, and I wouldn’t make you watch it if there was. See if there’s a holiday film on, yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he flicked through the channels in search of something worthwhile, he couldn’t help but watch out of the corner of his eye as she cracked open the book again, drawing her knees up to her chest and nestling back into the sofa cushions. Before he could ask what she thought of it, he was startled from a sudden buzzing in the pocket of his pajama pants. “Ah, shit,” he said, fumbling for it. “I forgot my parents said they’d call when they got up this morning before all the kids wake up. Do you mind?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no,” Anna said, waving a hand, “I’ll just head up--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he interrupted quickly, “I meant-- they’ve been asking about you. Would you mind saying hello?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! I-- of course, no problem,” she replied, doing her best to flatten out the bedhead she hadn’t bothered to brush out yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as he answered the FaceTime call, his mother greeted him with a loud, “Kristoff! Merry Christmas, baby!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t help but grin; it’d been too long since he’d gotten to talk to her. “Merry Christmas to you, too, Ma.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your dad’s right here, just-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>CLIFF!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” she squawked. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I got him to actually pick up this time!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>On the other end of the sofa, Anna tried and failed to hide a laugh that both Kristoff and his mother noticed. “Is that your roommate?” she asked excitedly. “Can I finally meet her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glanced at Anna, and when she nodded, he said, “Sure, Ma,” as he turned the phone camera away from himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna fluttered her fingers shyly. “Lovely to meet you, Mrs. Bjorgman. And happy Christmas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! He didn’t tell me you’re from there!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I did, Ma, I--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am, yeah,” Anna said, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Well, halfway, anyway. My mum’s side of the family is from near Inverness. But I lived in Massachusetts the last few years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How lovely! We’re from Maryland,” his mother said proudly. “Not so far, is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, not at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, tell me the truth, honey-- is Kristoff behaving himself?” she asked, furrowing her brow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ma</span>
  </em>
  <span>--” Kristoff began to protest, but Anna laughed and said, “Of course. He’s perfectly lovely, really. Makes me coffee every morning, and he’s gotten much better about hogging the loo and leaving his socks on the radiator.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll get you back for that one</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Kristoff mouthed to her over the top of the phone, but before she could go on, his father appeared on the screen. “Hey, Dad,” Kristoff said, turning the camera back to himself. “Merry Christmas.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>As Kristoff finished talking to his parents, Anna did her best to focus on the book and not their conversation, not wanting to pry. It was difficult, though, when she couldn’t help but be entranced by how </span>
  <em>
    <span>warm</span>
  </em>
  <span> they all were with each other, always teasing and laughing and exchanging affection as if it were an afterthought and not a necessary inconvenience to be dispensed only on holidays.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she realized she’d reread the same page three times while listening to Kristoff and his mother discussing the presents he’d shipped over for all of his little cousins, Anna sighed and set the book aside. He shot her a questioning glance, but she only shook her head and reached for her phone. It was a long shot, she knew, but by texting early in the day she knew she had a better chance of getting some kind of reply while her sister’s heart might be softened somewhat by the holiday spirit.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>hey elsa, i know it’s been a while, but i wanted to call and talk to you today if you’ve got the time. just to catch up and say merry christmas :)</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>To her surprise, a response came through only a few minutes later.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’d like that, too. I don’t have anything going on this morning, just call when you’re ready.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>ok, wanna facetime? i never have gotten to show you my place :) and i wanna see if the present i sent you got there.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No, I always get dizzy with FaceTime with the camera whirling around. But I did get it. It’s very nice, thank you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sent a picture of the throw blanket Anna had gotten her-- patterned with their mother’s family’s tartan pattern-- still folded and in the box. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Well,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Anna supposed, </span>
  <em>
    <span>at least that’s better than throwing it away.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>When Kristoff hung up the phone a few minutes later-- the cousins, evidently, were stirring-- he turned to her, looking nervous. “Sorry if that was a bit much, I--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No, not at all!” Anna said earnestly. “Your mum’s really really lovely, seriously. I can tell we’d get on well if she ever came for a visit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was quiet for a moment, then said softly, “Well...speaking of visits, I asked Sven if he wanted to come. He said he can sometime at the end of next month if that’s alright with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course it’s alright,” Anna said, warmth flooding her chest. “And I-- I’m proud of you for asking him, seriously. And really excited to meet him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugged, looking away as the tips of his ears turned red. “Well-- it’s like we said, need to get our shit sorted out before we...you know, jump in to anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna dared to scoot a little closer towards him on the sofa. “Thank you, Kris,” she said, wishing there was something more she could do to show her gratitude. “For...god, we’re in such a weird spot, but I...I’m glad we’re on the same page, even if it is sort of a strange one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A smile quirked at the corner of his mouth. “Me, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before an awkward silence could descend upon them, Anna said hesitantly, “And I...I’ve just texted my sister and asked if we can talk today. Properly, I mean, on the phone. Hearing you and your parents, I...I don’t know. Made me miss her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh-- are you going to call now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded, not fully trusting herself to speak. “Do you want me to go for a walk or something?” Kristoff asked, rising to his feet. “To give you guys some privacy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hadn’t even picked up the phone yet, and already she could feel her eyes beginning to burn with tears. “No,” she said, her voice thick. “Will you-- will you stay in here with me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” he replied immediately as he sat back down. “I’ll be right here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She moved to sit cross-legged and scooted a little closer to him as she hit the </span>
  <em>
    <span>call</span>
  </em>
  <span> button, enough that her knees just barely brushed against the side of his thigh. He gave her an encouraging smile as he turned the TV back on, keeping the volume low, and she found herself grateful for the thousandth time for his thoughtfulness; she knew that if the conversation began to get too personal, he’d immediately turn his attention to the screen, giving her some modicum of privacy without leaving her alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her sister picked up on the fourth ring; Anna drew in a deep breath, trying to decide what to say, but before she could, Elsa said softly, “Merry Christmas, Anna.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Merry Christmas to you, too,” she replied, emboldened by the encouraging smile Kristoff gave her. “I-- it’s good to hear your voice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yours, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna bit her lower lip. “You, um...what are your plans for the day?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just...you know. Enjoying some peace and quiet, making some cookies.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...by yourself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I just-- I mean, obviously I’m your only family, but, um-- you and Michael were still dating when I left, right? So I thought--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We weren’t-- dating,” Elsa replied, her voice stiff. “In the strictest sense of the word. And we aren’t now, either. So it’s just me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was an awkward silence, and then Elsa cleared her throat and asked. “So what are your plans?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, um-- well, me and Kristoff are sort of having a quiet day in, just did our presents and put on some movies, and then our boss, Dr. Oaken? He’s asked us over for Christmas dinner, and a couple other people, so that’ll be nice, I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you two are...friends, still?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna tried to swallow her disappointment; she’d been hoping this call would stay out of the realm of judgement for once. “Well...mostly. It’s sort of...complicated. But you’d like him, really, and I’m not being stupid or anything, I promise, so please don’t--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not,” Elsa said suddenly. “I-- and I’m sorry I </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you know, said what I did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna glanced up. Without her needing to say anything, Kristoff had fixed his eyes firmly on the television screen, and suddenly she couldn’t help but shift to sit next to him, leaning her head against his shoulder. “I’m sorry I left the way I did,” she said quietly. “And that it ended with us fighting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well. You’re happier there now, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elsa’s voice was surprisingly mild, but Anna swallowed hard anyway before she replied. “Yeah. It’s been...it’s been really good for me. I’m working at the museum-- the one Kristoff is trying to help set up, I don’t know if I told you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you didn’t. I...guess there’s a lot to catch up on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There is, yeah.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>And that’s not even including the fact that I’m supposedly married.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Well-- anyway, he’s an anthropologist, and I’m there part-time now. But Dr. Oaken said maybe they’d like to have me on full time after I graduate. I settled on literature, by the way, instead of the writing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you love writing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but that’s--” She took a deep breath. “For me, it’s...if I love something, I don’t want to do it for a job. That makes it less fun. Like...like baking. That’s why I...I couldn’t do it, Els, I-- I know I left you in the lurch, and I’m really sorry, and I know you thought it was stupid that I left Hans, and I wish I could--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It wasn’t stupid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna frowned. “...what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You leaving Hans, I-- I always wanted you to do that. Just….it’s just the way it happened, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elsa was quiet for a long moment. When she spoke again, there was a tightness to her voice; Anna knew she was holding back tears. “I always wanted you to break up with him. You were always too good for him. I just never thought that it’d mean you left me, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Anna whispered, her own eyes beginning to burn with tears, too. “I love you so much, Els, really, I just...I had to do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. I’m not-- that’s never what I’ve been upset about. I just...well. It doesn’t matter, really, just-- I want you to know I’m proud of you, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna nodded, blinking hard, before remembering her sister couldn’t see her. “I-- yeah, um, that’s-- that’s good to hear. I’m proud of you, too, for sticking it out and staying with the bakery.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A bitter laugh left her sister in response before she sighed and went on. “Well. Anyway, I-- I know you have a lot to do today, so I better let you go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, really, I--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodbye, Anna.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Elsa-- “</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a beep, and Anna pulled the phone away from her ear to see that the call had ended. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She set it down carefully onto the coffee table before turning to look back at Kristoff. He met her eyes and, without waiting for a further cue, wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close to his chest as she burst into tears.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. christmas dinner</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Anna had never much cared for quiet. There had been more than enough of it growing up; she’d spent most of her childhood in a house that always felt empty whether it actually was or not. Filling the silence had become something of a habit— a bad one, she’d been told— that had gotten her into trouble more than once at school. She’d been called a chatterbox by well-meaning adults more times than she could count and much worse things by her peers and exasperated teachers, but she couldn’t help it, not when she always felt like she had something to prove-- that she was smart or funny or charming or any number of things that might make her worth the world’s while.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It ought to have been a nightmare, then, to end up living with someone like Kristoff who used his words only sparingly, and if she was being honest, at first she had thought it was. She must have driven him half-mad those first few weeks when they were still feeling each other out and she’d gone on endlessly prattling about whatever came to her mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then one day they’d both been too tired even to bother with a proper “hello”, never mind bantering like they usually did, and they’d spent the evening splitting a pizza and a bottle of wine in front of the TV, and for the first time in her life Anna had found herself wondering if perhaps silence said more than words ever could. There had been an easiness between them, a natural give and take that needed nothing more than shared glances and exchanged smiles; that had been the first night she had lain awake thinking of him, wondering what would have happened if they’d set their wine glasses aside and fallen into each other and made something real out of the whole marriage charade. Silence with Kristoff never felt like judgement or boredom; instead it felt like peace, like contentment, like being held by someone who saw your messy morning hair and the way your laundry piled up and loved you anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Today, though, the quiet felt awkward again, as if sobbing in his arms for twenty minutes had somehow reset the clock and made them strangers once more. There were so many things she wanted to say to him as they puttered around the house, whiling away the hours until it was time to get ready for the Christmas dinner at Oaken’s, but none of them quite had the fortitude to survive the gap between her heart and her tongue. She had a feeling he was thinking about her conversation with Elsa just as much as she was, if not more, and a part of her itched to ask him about his honest thoughts on it, whether he thought she should bother calling her sister again at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead she poked her head into the living room where he was dozing as he watched the Christmas episode of Doctor Who. “Kris?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm?” he yawned as he sat up enough to turn and look at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Want to help me with the gingerbread men? They’ve finally cooled off enough to ice them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Course. Do we get to taste test them first?” he asked, rising to his feet and stretching enough that the hem of his t-shirt rode up and revealed a sliver of skin that Anna had to force herself to look away from. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. But </span>
  <em>
    <span>only one</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she said sternly, turning quickly on her heel and hoping he wouldn’t see the blush rising in her cheeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before she could finish transferring the cookies from the pan to a plate, he snagged one. Anna swatted halfheartedly at his hand. “That’s all you’re getting til the party, seriously.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aye aye, captain,” he said around a mouthful of crumbs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She glanced up at him as she began pulling down the ingredients to make the royal icing. “You’re still wearing your robe?” she said, her voice turning the observation into a question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh-huh,” he said, handing her a bowl she couldn’t quite reach even on her tiptoes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you really like it, then? I wasn’t sure what else to get you, so I just…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She trailed off, biting her lower lip, and he gave her a soft smile. “Of course I like it, Anna. You’re right, I really am always cold in the mornings.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” she said, looking away from him as she crossed to the fridge to retrieve the eggs. “And I really like the book.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded, and silence fell between them again, unaided by the whirring of the hand mixer as she beat the eggs. As she worked, Kristoff put the kettle on for tea; she couldn’t help but wonder if he was feeling off balance, too, and was just looking for something to do with his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The awkwardness stretched on until Anna handed him a pastry bag full of icing; before she could pull away, Kristoff set his fingers gently on the back of her hand. “Are you going to be okay, Anna?” he asked, his eyebrows pinching together in a worried frown. “I don’t...I don’t like it when you’re this quiet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” she said, fighting to hold back a second wave of tears that was threatening to rise. “I-- of course I will. Don’t worry about me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked like he wanted to say more, but she turned away and grabbed her own bag of icing. “Let’s go on and get started then,” she said, forcing holiday cheer into her voice. “Or else we won’t finish these in time to get to eat the roast Oaken’s been talking about since Halloween.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>As they crunched their way over the slushy sidewalk that led to Oaken’s house, Anna couldn’t stop fidgeting with the hem of her skirt. She’d gone for a plaid one with a black turtleneck tucked into it, but she couldn’t help worrying that it was too formal, or not formal enough, or that it matched too closely with Kristoff’s black pants and red sweater or--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A gloved hand curled around hers and held on tight. “It’s gonna be okay,” Kristoff said softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” she said automatically, even as she tightened her fingers around his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me know if you want me to fake a headache so we can go home early,” he said with a wink, and she gave his hand a grateful squeeze in response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door flew open before they even had the chance to knock on it. “Miss Anna!” Hannah squealed, flinging herself at her tutor’s knees. “You came! And you brought your husband!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Hannah dearest,” Anna said with a laugh, patting the girl’s back. “And even better,” she added mischievously, “I’ve brought gingerbread men.”`</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Han? Who is it?” A man with a mop of brown curls and wire-rimmed glasses leaned into the entryway and offered them a bright smile. “Oh! You’re Anna and Christopher, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kristoff,” they said in unison, and the man laughed as he came towards them, wiping his hands on his pants.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, sorry, Jamie gave me flashcards and everything, and I’ve still mucked it up,” he said cheerfully before offering his hand to Anna to shake. “Malcolm, lovely to meet the both of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You, too,” Anna said, doing her utmost to keep her voice bright. “Dr. Oaken-- uh, Jamie-- has told us so much about you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, god,” he replied, so drily she couldn’t help but laugh. “Don’t want to know what sort of twaddle he’s fed you. Well, anyway, come in, have a drink, yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve got Coke even though it’s after dark,” Hannah announced solemnly. “Because it’s a holiday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you, now?” Anna said. “I’ll have to have some with my supper, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ryder was already leaning up against the counter, chatting animatedly with Oaken as they devoured a platter of pigs in a blanket. Malcolm threw up his hands at the sight of them, muttering under his breath, before grabbing a bottle of wine and two glasses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kristoff! Thank god you’re finally here,” Oaken boomed. “Ryder’s trying to convince me that if Edward were alive then the English would’ve won Bannockburn. I said he’s just saying that because he’s from London, but you’ve got an outsider’s perspective on it, eh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, come on, lads, it’s Christmas,” Malcolm said half-heartedly even as Kristoff sat the container of cookies on the counter and launched into a spiel about-- well, Anna wasn’t entirely sure what, but he seemed to know how to pronounce all the old Scottish names better than she did, so she let go of his hand at last and accepted the glass Malcolm offered her with a nod.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hannah talks about you all the time,” he said, tilting his head towards where the little girl was making last-minute arrangements at the dining room table. “Says she wishes you were her teacher at school, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna couldn’t help but smile. “She’s such a sweetheart, really. Half makes me wish I </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>a teacher, then I remember what a holy terror I was at her age. Never stopped talking, drove everyone mad. Spent more time in trouble than out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “That’s a shame, really. Jamie says he doesn’t know what they’dve done without you, because they’ve all spent too much time reading about dead people and not enough talking to live ones. Should have seen him the day you first went along on their fundraising expeditions-- so happy when he got home I thought at first he’d nipped into the pub and had a few too many.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her cheeks reddened at the praise. “I-- well-- I just like talking to people, I suppose,” she said shyly, embarrassed that she was doing such an abysmal job of it now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm, though, didn’t seem to notice; already he was back to stirring a pot of something on the stove. Anna nursed her glass of wine as she watched the animated debate between the three men, giving Kristoff soft smiles every time his gaze slid over to her, worry flickering in his eyes. She couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty that she’d gone and ruined his Christmas with her silly little meltdown that morning. She didn’t know why she’d expected more from her sister, really, when even when they’d been small and things had been as close to good as they ever were, holidays had been nothing but an ordeal to get through, all stiff taffeta dresses and pinchy shoes and sitting quietly while the grown-ups sipped their sherry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A nudge came at her elbow. “Miss Anna?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She blinked in surprise as she looked down at Hanna’s nervous expression. “What is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad said we’re supposed to wait ‘til after supper to do the crackers,” she whispered conspiratorially. “But will you do one with me? I’m bored.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, darling,” she said as she took hold of one end of the Christmas cracker. “Three...two…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hannah pulled before saying </span>
  <em>
    <span>one</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and everyone in the kitchen jumped at the sound before bursting into laughter. Thoroughly unperturbed, she set the green paper crown on her head and said magnanimously, “You can keep the keychain and the joke.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On that note,” Oaken said drily, “I think the roast is ready.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>“So that’s how I ended up here on Christmas,” Ryder said, leaning back in his chair and patting his stomach. “And I can tell you already Maren’s gonna be </span>
  <em>
    <span>pissed</span>
  </em>
  <span> she decided not to brave the weather. You gonna bring these leftovers to work next week, boss?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely not,” Malcolm said before Oaken had even opened his mouth, and the whole table burst into laughter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, anyway,” Ryder went on after snorting ungracefully and getting everyone giggling again, “how’d you two end up here with us tonight, eh? I know airfare to the States is shit this time of year, but you’ve got family here, Anna, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff stiffened slightly beside her, as if prepared to jump to her defense, and the thought of that alone was enough for her to summon up a smile and say, “Oh, I do, a few cousins on my mum’s side near Inverness, but we were never close. And besides that it’s just my sister and me left, and she’s all the way back home near the cape.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t know you had a sister,” Hannah said, looking surprised before side-eyeing her father. “I’ve always wanted one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Erm-- yeah, yeah, I do. Her name’s Elsa. She’s three years older, runs the family bakery.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A </span>
  <em>
    <span>bakery</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Ryder said, looking hungry again despite the two full plates he’d polished off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, she’s loads better at it than I ever was. We’re sort of opposites, really, don’t even look alike.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Show us a picture!” Hannah said excitedly. “I want to see!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of the bakery, or her, or--”</span>
</p><p><span>“Both!”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Despite herself, Anna laughed as she pulled out her phone. “Okay, just a second. Let me get on their Facebook page…”</span></p><p>
  <span>She found the bakery easily enough; updating the page regularly had been one of the tasks she managed to do fairly well. The problem, though, was that even though there were at least weekly updates, most of them with pictures of the staff showing off their creations, there were none of Elsa.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The silence was beginning to feel oppressive as she tugged her bottom lip between her teeth, her thumb flicking quickly against the phone screen. “Just a second,” she said, hoping no one noticed the strain in her voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At last she came upon a picture from that spring when they’d celebrated the bakery’s ninety-sixth birthday; it was of just her and Elsa, both wearing aprons, with flour smudged on their noses and smiles that didn’t quite reach their eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here,” she said, holding her phone over the table. “That’s me and her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you guys twins?” Ryder asked, raising an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No, we look nothing alike,” Anna said hastily; she knew perfectly well that Elsa had always been the pretty one, there was no need for him to--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, seriously,” he went on, interrupting her train of thought. “Like, the hair is different, obviously, and you have more freckles, but that’s it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-- well. Maybe you’re right,” she conceded for the sake of getting this conversation over with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you know how to bake stuff?” Hannah asked hopefully. “Like cupcakes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And gingerbread,” Kristoff supplied, nudging Anna’s knee underneath the table. “Speaking of-- we’ll go grab it and some more wine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It only took Anna a moment to understand the lifeline he was offering her. “Yeah, we’ll just get it and be right back!” she said, rising at the same time as Kristoff and taking his hand in the process.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And the whiskey, too,” Oaken said with a wink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had only just made it to the threshold of the kitchen when a sudden clamor rose from the table. “What?” Anna asked, whipping around to see what was going on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malcolm winked and pointed above her head; feeling nervous, she looked up and saw the sprig of mistletoe hanging from the doorframe. Hannah burst into a fit of giggles as Kristoff and Anna made nervous eye contact with each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was the line they had drawn in the space between them on that night in September, when they had first met, the line that, once blurred, couldn’t be taken back. She was all too aware of just how easy it would be to cross it, to use this moment as a jumping-off point-- and that it would be just as easy to take it back later tonight when they were alone and insist it had meant nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To rise up on her toes, to set her hands on his shoulders, to press her lips against his; easy as breathing, and it’d make her feel better tonight, and then tomorrow could deal with itself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was still waiting for her cue, his eyes steady and his hand in hers supporting her more than he realized-- or perhaps he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> know how much he anchored her, how badly she had needed him today more than any other day that had come before it. And that-- the </span>
  <em>
    <span>needing</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and the fear of what would happen if this was how she lost him-- that was why she gave a slight shake of her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without missing a beat, he leaned down, the back of his head blocking their faces from view, and pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek, squeezing her hand in understanding before pulling away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d kissed her cheek a hundred times before, and yet this time it took her breath away as if it was the first again; her face reddened at Malcom’s whoop and Ryder’s disappointed groan. “That doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>count,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he groused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oaken guffawed, elbowing the younger man affectionately. “We’ll see if you change your tune when you finally find someone willing to put up with you and it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> under the mistletoe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While the rest of them were distracted by the banter, Anna tugged Kristoff into the kitchen, out of sight and earshot. “Sorry,” she said, feeling suddenly too ashamed of herself to meet his eyes as she opened the container of cookies and began to stack them onto a plate. “I just-- I couldn’t--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A gentle hand came to rest on the small of her back. “You don’t have to apologize, Anna.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her hand stilled for a moment in midair as she tried to put into words why, exactly, she had stopped him tonight, why she was still holding back at all when he was so wonderful and she was-- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, that was it, wasn’t it? She was more of a mess than she’d even let herself realize, and it’d be unfair to put that on him, not now when he was finally starting to build his confidence back up and stand up to Rachel. No, if they were ever going to do this, they were going to do it </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span>, when they were both ready; no rushing it, no jumping in headfirst when they had all the time in the world to sort it out, no risking ruining the best thing in her life right now, and kissing him tonight--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It just…” she said, the trembling words barely audible as she turned to look at him, “it’d make it too real.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes were just as soft as they had been that morning when he’d held her on the sofa. “I know,” he said quietly. “Believe me, I know.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. auld lang syne</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Damn</span>
  </em>
  <span>, his head was killing him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The paracetamol he’d taken that morning was wearing off, and he was regretting not bringing more with him to the museum. Shit, he was starting to regret coming in at all today, when it was only him and Ryder filling out catalogue entries and sending out thank-you emails. Oaken had told them they didn’t need to come in during the holidays, but thanks to the party they’d hosted the first week of the month and the spirit of giving brought on by the holidays, they’d been swamped with donations recently. Supposedly, next month more people were getting brought on to handle this stuff now that the opening day was creeping closer and closer-- mid-April, that was the goal now-- but until then…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you have a look at this envelope and see if I’ve spelled it right? I’m going cross-eyed looking at all these addresses,” Ryder called.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff winced; did he have to be so </span>
  <em>
    <span>loud</span>
  </em>
  <span>? “Yeah, sure, let me have a look.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ryder brought the envelope over and held it up. “It is two Ns, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff squinted until the words blurred in front of his eyes, but still he couldn’t quite make it out. “Um. Yeah. Think so. Probably.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other man frowned. “You sure you’re alright, mate? Looking a bit pale.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine. Just trying to get this over with so I can go home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can go now if you need. I can manage it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah-- you’re the intern, if anything, you’re the one who ought to be enjoying the holiday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Saves me hours in the spring if I stay,” Ryder explained. “I’m trying to go to Spain for Easter hols since that’ll be my last chance for a bit of time off before this place finally opens.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff hummed noncommittally before returning his attention to the computer screen in front of him and squinting at the numbers as they swam before his eyes. Ten thousand-- no, that couldn’t be right; how did they use decimal points here? Ten dollars-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>pounds</span>
  </em>
  <span>--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You guys coming to the New Year’s Eve party?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” he asked, rubbing at his forehead and reaching for a tissue; the weather had his nose all drippy today.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At the pub across the street. Oaken and Malcolm’ll even be there, got a babysitter for the night. My sister’s coming up, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dunno. You’d have to ask Anna, she’s the one who sorts these things out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, shit. She may not know about it, then, was Rachel’s idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course</span>
  </em>
  <span> it fucking was,” Kristoff muttered under his breath. “She’ll be there, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Coming back from Glasgow for it, apparently. So you </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> to come.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ryder came closer, leaning against the edge of his desk. “Because she scares me. Are you sure you’re alright? You always look a little nauseated when she’s around, but mate, you’re--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Kristoff said, a little more harshly this time. “I just want to get this done so I can go home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine, you grumpy old bastard,” Ryder said, sounding entirely unoffended as he wandered back to his own desk. “Don’t see how Anna puts up with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Neither do I, half the time</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought morosely as he buried his head in his hands in an attempt to block out the light and dull the pain in his head. Maybe if he just took a break for a minute, rested his eyes--</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kristoff blinked, confused. When had Anna gotten here? And when had they gotten home? And when--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Kris,” she panted, her arm straining against his lower back. “If you don’t take the next step we’re going to fall backwards down these stairs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took the step blindly, not understanding that they were at home and on the second floor until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. “There you are, then,” she said, handing him a neatly folded set of pajamas. “Go on and get changed while I get the thermometer and some paracetamol.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you’re not. You’ve got flu or something. Get changed, and I’ll be right back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d managed the pants at least by the time she returned, but his arms felt achey enough that he’d given up on getting the t-shirt she’d brought him on and instead had just crawled under the blankets. Anna’s cheeks colored when they landed on his bare shoulders; normally he would have felt pleased at her reaction, but right now he just wanted to go to sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna, however, had other plans. She perched on the edge of the bed and held out a thermometer to him. He sighed as he sat up and took it, sticking it half heartedly under his tongue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You big baby,” she said affectionately, reaching out to brush his hair out of his eyes. “I’ll let you rest again soon as I know how high your fever is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Under different circumstances, he would have rolled his eyes at her, but her fingers brushing over his scalp were the first thing that had helped to alleviate his headache all day, and so instead he leaned forward slightly into her touch. A shudder of relief rippled through him when she understood what he wanted and continued stroking his hair, scooting closer to him so she could reach the back of his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A pang of disappointment hit him when the thermometer beeped and he had to move away from her to pull it out from under his tongue. Anna took a moment to examine it, raising her eyebrows, before setting it aside and gently nudging him back towards the pillows. “Thirty-nine point two. Back to sleep with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded, already feeling himself begin to fall back into sleep, when it occurred to him--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anna,” he said weakly, “Anna, this is </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> bed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her lips curled up into a faint smile as she reached down to resume stroking his hair. “I changed the sheets if that’s what you’re worried about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But it’s your room. I can go back downstairs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll do no such thing,” she said sternly. “I’m not going to make you sleep on the sofa when you’re sick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her smile only grew when he let out a sigh. “Fine. But the second I don’t have a fever, we’re switching back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you insist,” she said, clearly trying to placate him. “Right now, just worry about trying to get some more rest, yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. But after I take a nap, I’ve got to--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had begun to sit up and move the sheets aside, but Anna put her palm against his chest, stopping him. “Kristoff, seriously. You went to work even though Oaken said you didn’t have to, and you felt like shit and fell asleep at your desk. You need to </span>
  <em>
    <span>rest.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I fell </span>
  <em>
    <span>asleep</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you even remember Ryder bringing you over here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-- of course,” he lied, and she rolled her eyes, clearly not buying it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you need to be doing right now, anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s-- I don’t know, there’s museum stuff, and-- and laundry--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The museum can make it a couple of days without you working on it. And don’t worry about the laundry, I’ll take care of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kristoff. You have the flu. You’re running a fever. If you don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>rest</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it’s going to get worse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glanced down and saw her hand was still pressed against his chest just over his heart. Even when her eyes slid down to see what had caught his attention, he didn’t look away, too struck by the easy, gentle way she was still touching his bare skin, and how effortlessly she had stilled him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” he said, leaning back again against the pillow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna laughed, moving her hand to cup the side of his face. “What, you’re really going to give in that easy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Give me a break. I’ve got the flu, you know, too tired to argue with you over it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re ridiculous, you know that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, and you’re stuck with me anyway,” he yawned, his eyes already fluttering shut. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>The next day and a half passed in a haze of tablets and cups of water and mugs of soup and cool rags against his forehead and Anna stroking his hair again until he fell back to sleep. They talked sometimes, he was sure; about what, he didn’t remember, but even when he was half out of it he managed to make her laugh. At some point when he was still shivering even under three blankets, she’d brought him the bathrobe she’d given him and helped him put it on; even later when he felt warm again, he kept wearing it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could tell from the faint starlight shimmering through the gauzy curtains that it was late when he rolled over and knew that his fever had broken. He still ached all over, his head the worst of all, but he felt more clear-minded than he had in days. Rubbing at his stubbly jaw, he squinted at the post-it note Anna had left on the nightstand.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shout when you wake up, or send a text if your throat still hurts. Happy NYE xx</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff opened his mouth to shout and immediately regretted it. Instead he fumbled around in the semi-dark until he managed to land his fingers on his phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>im awake happy nye</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was so quiet in the house that he could hear her phone pinging downstairs, and then the screech of the chair against the floor as she got to her feet. There were a few minutes of cupboards banging and clanking spoons, and then the creak of the stairs before Anna came into view around the half-open door, holding a cup of water and a steaming bowl of soup.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you feel?” she asked, her voice quiet as she drew closer, setting the bowl and cup on the nightstand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like shit,” he said weakly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna laughed softly and pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. For a moment she held it there before gently brushing his hair out of his eyes with a soft smile, the gesture so tender that despite the ache in his head, it made something in his chest swell. “You’re not running fever right now, though, so that’s good,” she said, bringing him out of his lovestruck reverie and back to reality. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Got a good nurse, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughed again. “Brought you some soup and ginger ale if you want it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” he said, suddenly struck by the thought of whether or not Rachel had ever done something like this for him-- he’d done it for her, but she--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Need anything else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff tugged awkwardly at a corner of the blanket. “‘m fine,” he mumbled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Want some company?” she asked, sounding suddenly shy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” he said, so quickly he knew he ought to be embarrassed, but even in the dim light of the bedroom he could make out the way her shoulders loosened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, just give me a minute to get my own supper, and I’ll be back up. Want some tea?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Course I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few minutes later she was back up, carrying a plate with a sandwich and her own cup of water. “Let me just run back down and grab a chair, and I’ll--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to,” he said quickly. “There’s room up here. And it’s your bed, anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She bit her lower lip. “Promise not to shout if I get crumbs on the sheets?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah. Throat hurts too much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d meant it as a joke, but a worried look crept into her eyes. “Do you need--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Anna</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” she asked, at last setting her plate down on the nightstand and climbing up to sit beside him, crossing her legs at the ankle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to worry </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> much over me, you know. Not that I don’t appreciate it,” he added quickly. “I just…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you’re always worrying over </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No I’m--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You make me coffee every morning and tea every night. When it’s cold out, you check my scarf and look over at me every couple of minutes to make sure I’m not shivering. Whenever I cry over something silly, you give me biscuits or wine or something, and if you know it’s for something real, then you hug me and don’t let go til I’ve gotten it all out. So </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she said, fixing him with her sternest gaze, “let me return the favor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he returned, “agreed right out of the gate to be my fake wife, and now that you know how Rachel is you go out of your way with it all. And I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> you were sending the annoying people to her at that party, and that you’re the reason we mysteriously never run out of ginger nuts anymore, and you </span>
  <em>
    <span>also</span>
  </em>
  <span> fix </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> scarf. So we’re already even, whether you like it or not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna rolled her eyes. “What was it you said about your throat hurting too much to talk?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He chuckled and picked up his bowl of soup from the nightstand. “You know...if we end up doing this for real, I think we’re gonna be pretty good at it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes were soft as she leaned back against the headboard and smiled over at him. “You think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I mean, shit, we already got the ‘bickering like an old married couple’ part down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked away from him for a moment as she picked up her sandwich, but he could still see the tips of her ears turning pink, matching his own. Glancing up at him again from beneath her lashes, she said softly, “Thanks for waiting with me. I think...do you think maybe soon you wanna talk about it again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I, uh,” he stammered, “yeah, you-- me-- us, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughed at that and went to nudge his shoulder before remembering he was holding a bowl of soup. “I think maybe that now I’m sort of sorting things out with my sister, that’ll...I think I’ll feel ready for it, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallowed a spoonful of soup as he nodded vigorously. “Yeah, and I-- yeah, for me it feels like after I’ve gotten to talk to Sven, it’ll be like...closure, I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So...after that, then. After Sven comes, let’s talk about it again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds good,” he said, wondering if his cheeks were as red as hers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment they were quiet again as they resumed eating; as much as he’d hated her silence since the phone call to her sister, he was grateful for it now as it gave him the chance to recollect himself and do the best he could to hide the broad smile that was fighting to make an appearance. Sven was coming on the 18th and staying for a week; in less than a month, they’d be talking all of this through again, deciding whether they were ready for a relationship or not, and judging by how well things had been going…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His thoughts were interrupted by Anna’s phone buzzing on the bed between them. She picked it up and laughed before turning it around to show him a close-up picture of Ryder’s terrified expression. “He said he just heard Rachel come in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff couldn’t help but laugh, but then a thought struck him. “Wait-- what time is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Half nine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and we’re just now having-- anyway. Beside the point. Why don’t you go to the party? There’s still time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shrugged, looking away from him to pick at the crust on her sandwich. “It’d look bad if I left my sick husband home alone on New Year’s, wouldn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but wouldn’t you rather, you know, be at an actual party?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I…” She bit her bottom lip. “No. I’d just spend the whole time wishing you were there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” he managed to say, feeling an acute pang of disappointment at the realization that if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> somehow get up the nerve to lean across the bed and hug her, he’d probably just get her sick, too, and that </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> wouldn’t bode well for the future.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can go, though if you--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! No,” he said quickly, “that’s not what I meant. I just...want you to have a good New Year’s, that’s all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The corner of her mouth quirked up into a smile. “Well, it’s going pretty good so far.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” he asked, and she nodded, reaching across the space between them to rest her hand over his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A yawn overtook him, and Anna laughed, affectionately rubbing the back of his hand with her thumb. “Are you going to make it to midnight?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably not. Will you wake me back up for the countdown?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He flipped his hand over beneath hers. “Best fake wife ever,” he said softly, and she smiled and laced their fingers together.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. welcome to st andrews</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>sorry for the delay!! decided to split sven's visit up into 2 chapters</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>“But they’re only an hour apart!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but it’ll be an extra half a day there!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’ll be </span>
  <em>
    <span>worth</span>
  </em>
  <span> it, though!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a tourist trap!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s part of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>experience</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you great grumpy bastard,” Anna said, stamping her foot, “and I’ll be going there with him whether you want us to or no, because it’ll be </span>
  <em>
    <span>fun</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and you can sit at Fort William with your thumb up your arse talking about muskets or whatever the hell else all by yourself!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff blinked at her, stunned, before sighing and lowering himself into his usual kitchen chair. “Can I be honest?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been well honest enough I--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When you’re mad,” he interrupted her, “you start sounding so Scottish I have no idea what you’re saying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stilled, too, though it was difficult when a smile was threatening to make an appearance. “You’ve lived here how long, and still you can’t understand us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus, Anna, even </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oaken</span>
  </em>
  <span> would be hard-pressed trying to figure out what you just shouted at me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughed, and then a strange feeling passed through her chest, one she couldn’t quite place. He waited, not saying anything, and a moment later she crossed the kitchen floor to stand in front of him; he parted his knees, and she drew even closer to stand between them, cupping his face in her hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think he’ll like me?” she asked, realizing all at once that it was simple nervousness that had taken hold of her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course he will,” Kristoff replied, giving her a reassuring smile. “Who doesn’t like you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She raised her eyebrows; a laugh escaped him, and then he amended, “Okay, okay, </span>
  <em>
    <span>most</span>
  </em>
  <span> people like you, and the ones who don’t...well, who cares about them, anyway? But Sven’s definitely one of the ones who </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just in case he doesn’t…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anna.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lifted a hand and settled it over hers. A shiver ran down her spine; his hand covered hers completely. “He </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span> like you,” Kristoff insisted gently. “Trust me. I already told him lots of good things. And he’s excited to meet you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She bit her lip, wishing she felt the same assurance she saw in his eyes. As certain as she knew they both were about what they wanted, it still felt as if a lot was riding on Sven’s approval, like they both needed the outside confirmation that she was nothing like Rachel, and that their feelings were entirely genuine, entirely </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” she said, and his smile widened. “But I’m just saying, he’ll like me even </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span> when I take him to Loch Ness.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was strange, how little Sven has changed in the years since they had seen each other; he still wore his dreadlocks pulled back into a ponytail, still had that little goatee he’d grown during No Shave November and never gotten rid of, even still wore a faded NYU sweatshirt. His smile, though, that was even broader than Kristoff had remembered as he approached them in the Arrivals lounge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good to see you, man,” Sven said, grinning and clapping him on the back the moment he was within arms’ reach. “Especially after being on that plane for-fucking-ever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You, too,” Kristoff said gruffly, returning the gesture. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sven pulled back, his smile widening as his eyes landed on where Anna was waiting nervously a few steps away, her hands wrapped tightly around each other. “And you must be Anna.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yup,” she said, more shy than Kristoff had ever seen her. “That’s me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sven shot him a pleased glance, his eyes soft, before crossing over to stand in front of her and holding out a hand. “It’s good to meet you. I’ve really been looking forward to it for a while now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her shoulders relaxed then as she accepted his hand and shook it. “It’s really lovely to meet you, too. Kris has told me so much about you, you’ll have to tell us all about your flight and the rest of the trip on the way back to the house and then let us know what you want to do this week and all of that because we want to make sure you enjoy the trip and so just let us know anything you need or want, really, we’re happy to help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sven just looked at her for a long moment, blinking once and then twice, before admitting, “To be honest, I haven’t met that many Scottish people, and I...well, sorry, but I have no idea what you just said.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a beat of silence, and then Anna burst into laughter. “Would you believe Kristoff said the same thing to me this afternoon?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did he really? After being here for this long?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah! And I wasn’t even talking fast.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, but you were </span>
  <em>
    <span>angry</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Kristoff interjected. “Which always makes you extra Scottishy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Angry? What’d you do this time, Bjorgman?” Sven asked, his dark eyes twinkling with laughter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He says he thinks you won’t like Loch Ness!” Anna said, crossing her arms and turning to glare up at Kristoff. “And I said I’m sure you will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you kidding me? That’s top of the list for things I want to see.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha!” Anna said, poking Kristoff in the chest. “Knew it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Anyway, let us help you with your bags.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me go to the bathroom really quick before we go,” Anna said, already trotting off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff watched her for a moment, admiring the way her hair shone in the light and the way her hips swayed from side to side, until he was startled back to reality by an elbow to the side. “Pick your jaw up off the floor,” Sven said, grinning. “You’ll catch flies.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up,” he muttered, returning the jab.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still gonna talk to her after I leave?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shifted awkwardly from side to side, not meeting his friend’s gaze. “That’s the plan, yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well. Gotta say I approve so far.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really? Already?” Kristoff asked, surprised. “You’ve known her all of two minutes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Which is more time than I ever spent with you-know-who. And you’re smiling more than I’ve seen in years, so...well. That’s all I’m saying, or else we’re gonna have a full manly tears moment in the middle of this airport.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Kristoff could think of a decent response, Anna reappeared beside them, taking hold of Sven’s larger suitcase. “Ready, boys?” she asked, taking off without waiting for a reply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sven chuckled and shook his head as they followed after her. “She always like this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yup.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No wonder you like her,” he said, winking at Kristoff before sauntering ahead to catch up with Anna.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>“You sure you’re good with this, Freckles? You know he snores, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Three hours of knowing each other, and already he’d nicknamed her; Anna decided to take that as a definite victory. “Yeah, I know. And I do, too, probably even louder than him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sven laughed and shook his head. “Well, if it gets too much for you, kick him back downstairs. I’ll make him sleep on the floor like I used to back when he didn’t do the dishes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How exactly did you make him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stole his mattress,” he said airily. “Only took him three tries, and he never forgot again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Kristoff said, ambling past them as he headed into the kitchen for one last cup of tea, “never remembered to vacuum, even when I stole all your chargers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gotta be smarter than that, Bjorgman. I just used yours whenever you pulled that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I locked my door!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have my ways,” Sven replied, winking at Anna as she stifled a laugh. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Anyway</span>
  </em>
  <span>-- make me a cup too, will you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna couldn’t help but smile as she headed up the stairs after bidding them both good night; it was hard to remember why exactly she’d been so terribly nervous about meeting Sven when already it felt like they’d known each other for years. They’d spent the whole train ride back to St Andrews chatting away about his trip over and everything he wanted to do during the week. Next to her, Kristoff had been mostly quiet, the edge of his hand just barely pressed up against hers, his smile growing bigger and bigger each time they burst into laughter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She showered quickly, struck by the absurd fear that if she didn’t, Kristoff might accidentally come into the bedroom and see her half-dressed. As much as she </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> want that to happen sooner rather than later, she wanted it to be under rather different circumstances.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She settled into her usual spot and drew the covers up over her shoulders, a sudden rash of nerves rising in her as she stared at the empty space across the mattress, the same one Kristoff had occupied while he’d been so sick a few weeks ago. Was it stupid of them to do this, to push the limits like this? Then again, would it be stupider not to when they were only a week out from the promised conversation about what, exactly, this was between them and what they were going to do about it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mercifully, she wasn’t left alone with her thoughts for long; the bathroom door creaked as Kristoff came upstairs to brush his teeth and change into his pajamas. Anna couldn’t help but be thankful that he’d elected to change in there; she might have spontaneously combusted if he’d changed in the same room where she was, whether she dared to steal a peek or not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Kristoff slipped under the blankets and settled next to her, Anna felt her heart begin to speed up. They’d done this before, of course, but only on the sofa, and only when they were just friends, and only--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ready for me to turn this off?” he asked, interrupting her thoughts as his hand hovered over the lamp’s switch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna nodded, biting her lower lip, and he did so before sliding down and laying his pillow flat. He turned to face her, his expression solemn in the dim moonlight that peeked through the blinds. “I’ll stay to my side, I promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me, too,” she said, before shyly sliding a hand across the mattress. “Well-- mostly, anyway. If that’s okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t have to look at him to know he was smiling as he wrapped his hand around hers. She wanted to stay awake and savor it, this feeling of closeness that she knew would only grow in a week-- a </span>
  <em>
    <span>week</span>
  </em>
  <span>, so short and yet so long a time she could hardly stand it-- but within only a few minutes, she was fast asleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was hard to know exactly when she slipped into consciousness once more, because the comforting sensation of warmth pressed against her back and around her middle didn’t disappear like the rest of the dream she’d been having; in fact, it occurred to her, that with each passing moment it felt more and more solid, more real.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a slight rumbling against her back, and then a soft snore came from somewhere just above the crown of her head. Anna bit back a laugh; somehow in the night, they had ended up pressed together as close as they could be, though that hadn’t stopped Kristoff from wrapping his arms around her waist and tucking his chin over her head as if he could somehow hold her even closer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her alarm would be going off sooner rather than later, and she’d have to pretend to be embarrassed rather than pleased at the predicament they’d found themselves in, but for now she dropped one of her hands to cover his and settled back in to sleep.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How do they know it’s that old?” Sven asked as he craned his neck to take in the height of the ruined cathedral, squinting against the softly falling snow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Record. Books. Passed on knowledge. Lots of ways,” Kristoff replied. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh,” Sven said, pulling out his camera. “Wonder if the people back then ever wondered about us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably. But they probably thought it’d still be standing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why isn’t it?” Sven asked as he strode forward through the snow, heading for the far end of the ruins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Scottish Reformation, meant there was no one around to stop the looters. Eventually a tower gave way and took down a wall. Honestly, it’s a miracle even this much is left.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were quiet for a long moment then, the only sound the faint </span>
  <em>
    <span>click</span>
  </em>
  <span> of Sven’s camera. It was nice, really, in the snow and the warm light of the setting sun, to simply walk quietly along the same paths that had been trod for a thousand years with nothing in particular to occupy one’s mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>almost</span>
  </em>
  <span> nothing; while normally Kristoff would be content to stand and wander a historical site for hours focusing on nothing but every tiny new detail he noticed, this afternoon thoughts of a certain redhead kept slipping into his mind no matter how much he tried to think about something else for once. Earlier in the day it’d been alright; there’d been plenty of distraction as he’d shown Sven around the city and introduced him to the wonders of Tesco and sausage rolls from Greggs, but as the day wore on and it grew closer and closer to time to meet up with Anna as she got out of her last class of the day, Kristoff found himself growing antsy. It was stupid, he knew, when he’d seen her every day now for the last five months and would continue to do so as long as he possibly could; when it was only half an hour now ‘til they met up with her-- but still, he couldn’t stop thinking about her, about how he’d woken up and found her nestled against his chest, her nose tucked against the crook of his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sven clapped him on the shoulder, startling him enough that he jumped. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus</span>
  </em>
  <span>, man,” Kristoff yelped. “Give me some warning next time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said your name three times,” Sven said drily. “Let me guess, you were thinking about what you guys did in that bed last night?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We didn’t do anything,” Kristoff muttered, his cheeks reddening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You were fucking singing in the shower.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I always do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sven raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t used to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff opened his mouth to reply with something sarcastic before it hit him-- he </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> used to do that before. Especially not the last year that he and Sven had lived together, or in the years intervening; not until Anna.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a lot of things I didn’t used to do, I guess,” he said at last, and the other man’s eyes softened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You about ready to head towards the university? And maybe we uh...maybe we can stop at Greggs again on the way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff chuckled as he began to trudge through the snow. “Don’t have to ask me twice.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. the highlands</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>did not edit this a ton but i think you'll enjoy it anyway lol</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Um-- Anna? Is that right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is, yeah, hi! And you’re Tessa, the new finance person, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, um, that’s me,” she said shyly, looking surprised that she’d been remembered. “I was just wondering...can you help me with the copier? I don’t understand what I’ve done wrong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The papers in her hands were trembling. Anna smiled and got to her feet, gently brushing her fingers against Tessa’s arm. “‘Course I can. Come on, show me what it’s telling you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After pushing various buttons and examining the error messages, Anna knelt down by the paper drawer-- something had gotten hung again-- and asked, “Bit nervous, first week and all?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very,” Tessa admitted sheepishly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s no need to be, really,” Anna reassured her. “Seriously, everyone’s really lovely. Even my husband, no matter what Ryder tells you. He’s really excited to meet you, I promise, just the timing worked out funny with him taking this week off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other woman looked around nervously before kneeling beside Anna and fiddling with the corners of her papers. “It’s not him I’m worried about,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if on cue, a cool voice called, “Second day and already breaking things, eh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The clicking of a pair of heels heralded Rachel’s arrival. When neither Anna or Tessa responded, she said airily, “Only teasing you, babe. We’ve all fought with that thing at least once. Just ask Anna, she’s practically an expert by now on putting it back together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’s that schedule going, Rach?” Anna asked, rising to her feet with a smile. “Got all the dates sorted?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Remind Kris about our conference next weekend, will you?” Rachel returned the saccharine expression. “Or would you like me to text him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What conference?” Anna asked as Tessa rose to her feet and scurried away, leaving her copies running. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other woman’s smile widened. “Oh, he didn’t tell you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus fucking Christ</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Anna thought as she responded mildly, “Probably slipped his mind. We’ve been up to so much lately.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Annual historians’ conference in Manchester. Oaken’s asked the two of us to go and spread the word, see if we get any good ideas for upcoming rotating exhibits. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just</span>
  </em>
  <span> the two of us-- you understand, of course, Ryder’s busy and it’d go over you and Tina’s heads.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tessa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. Well, anyway, I’ll give him a call, then, since you’re so busy doing...whatever it is you do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fundraising the money that pays your salary,” Anna muttered under her breath as Rachel sauntered off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Anna made her way back to her desk, she felt her phone buzz in her pocket. Glancing around to make sure Oaken was still occupied, she snuck it out and swiped to open the message. It was a photo of a sweeping plain cut in half by a ribboning river, the colors so vivid she could practically feel the breeze-- the view from the top of the Stirling monument.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wish you were here with us</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Kristoff had texted.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>me too...rachel’s in rare form today. don’t envy u guys climbing all those steps tho!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The response was a blurry picture of Sven bent over, hands on his knees and panting at the top of the monument, and Anna stifled a laugh as Rachel shot her a narrow-eyed glance. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tomorrow</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she reminded herself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>tomorrow and the next two days you’ll be with them.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Despite the way Anna had nestled against his chest last night-- on purpose, this time-- and the way she’d smiled in her sleep when he’d kissed her forehead and pulled regretfully away to take a shower, Kristoff still couldn’t help but show off for her as they loaded the rental car after breakfast, insisting on lifting their suitcases with one hand and tying them on top of the car. And, of course, he felt more than a little pleased with himself when he turned back, wiping his hands on his pants, and noticed her cheeks coloring as she quickly lifted her eyes to his face instead of his ass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ready to go, then?” he asked, and she nodded, turning and scurrying back in the house to get Sven.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, she’d been able to submit an assignment early and reschedule Hannah’s weekly tutoring so she had three days off in a row for their trip to the highlands. They were staying just outside of Fort William in a rented cottage-- only two bedrooms, which he’d lied and told Sven was unfortunate, and earned an eyeroll in response. The plan was to take their time driving past the vivid scenery of the highlands and then explore the city and the surrounding area-- including, of course, Loch Ness, and a quick trip to Inverness to see where Anna had spent much of her childhood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sure about this, Freckles?” Sven asked as he and Anna emerged from the house, his brow knitted with concern.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s alright, really,” Anna reassured him. “Like…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gestured between her own legs and his and burst into laughter. “Your legs are like, twice as long as mine. I’ll be fine in the backseat, trust me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, alright,” Sven acquiesced, holding up his hands, “just let me know if you need a break, yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be fine!” she said cheerfully as she slid into the backseat. “Nice and cozy. And anyway, there’s room for me to turn to the side and stretch my legs out, see?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, all six inches of them,” Kristoff teased as he slid into the driver’s seat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re in no position to make fun of something being only six inches long,” Sven muttered under his breath, earning a punch to the arm from Kristoff and a peal of laughter from Anna.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, Inverness, eh?” Sven asked as they left the city behind them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mhmm,” Anna replied. “Whole mum’s side of the family is from there. We lived there year round ‘til I was four, then we moved to the States, and it was only summers from then on. Well, for me it was, anyway-- Elsa’s only been back for a couple of funerals since we were...oh, I think she was eight?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really? They just sent you over by yourself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, got to wear the little unaccompanied minor badge and everything. It was nice though, honestly, having my grandparents to myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You gotta forgive me if I’m being too nosy-- blame the journalist part of me,” Sven said, turning back and giving her a wink. “But...why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did they send you and not your sister.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff was quiet; this was the most he’d heard about her family and her sister so far. Sven had a way of pulling things out of people that they wouldn’t normally share-- probably how he’d landed a job right out of school at the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Times</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Even if it hadn’t been for the tearful phone calls between Anna and her sister that he’d witnessed, he would have known from her near silence on the subject of family that something was amiss; all he’d known before now was that her parents had died when she was a teenager and that her sister was her only living family.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Anna shrug. “She was really smart even when she was a kid, so they put her in boarding school in third grade, and then there were always camps and things in the summer she went to. It was sort of funny, really, at first we thought she got sent off because she was in trouble, before I figured out that </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> was the disappointing one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna laughed as she said it, but Kristoff didn’t think there was anything particularly funny about that at all. “Why’d you think that?” he asked, unable to resist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She lifted her bangs and leaned forward. “See that scar?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sven turned around and whistled at the sight. “Damn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. That’s why I’ve had bangs for almost fifteen years,” she said with a laugh, dropping her hair and sitting back again. “We were in the new house bored out of our skulls. Neither of us could sleep, so we had a pillow fight in the living room, and somehow I wiped out and landed face first on a glass coffee table. Busted my head and shattered the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> out of it. I’m lucky I just got a concussion and this monster. Well-- ask my teachers, and they’d probably tell you that’s why I can’t keep my mouth shut, either,” she said with another laugh, though this one sounded a little more forced. “Anyway, it was just a coincidence that that’s the year they sent my sister off, but we didn’t figure it out til we were older. So that’s why we don’t really get along.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a moment of tense silence in the car; for once, even Sven didn’t know what to say. And then Anna quickly added, “We’re working on it now, though. I actually just texted her a picture of the stuff we’re driving past since she’s not seen it in ages. And I promised to video call her when we go past this one waterfall she really likes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah? How much longer til we get to it, do you think?” Sven asked, deftly changing the subject and leaving Kristoff to grapple silently with the pile of new information that had settled on his chest like a lead weight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No wonder they were so distant; no wonder Anna seemed to think so poorly of herself; no wonder she didn’t like talking about her family. He had a sinking feeling that her parents had done nothing to stop her and her sister from thinking that their separation was a punishment-- if anything, based on what else he’d observed, they’d probably encouraged it. He was suddenly overwhelmed with a deep desire to call his own mother and thank her profusely for adopting him as a child and making sure he </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> knew how much he was wanted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He let himself be carried along by the river of easy conversation that flowed so effortlessly between Sven and Anna, laughing or giving an answer when one was expected; it was strange to remember now how nervous he and Anna had been about this, how they’d ever worried whether she’d gain Sven’s approval. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was midway through tallying a list of all the ways Anna compared favorably against Rachel when his train of thought was interrupted by a gasp from his left. He turned and saw Sven with his nose pressed against the window. “Yup,” Anna said happily, “that’s it. Pull over, Kris, will you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He did so quickly; he was as excited as they were to get a closer look to the waterfall pouring over the ancient, rugged rocks that carved through the snow-covered glen. Anna was already dialing her sister on her phone, practically bouncing with excitement, while Sven was getting as close as he could to the water and pulling out a camera. A smile tugged at the corner of Kristoff’s lips; it was strange, perhaps, that he was happier about seeing their excitement than the waterfall itself, but he didn’t care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna’s FaceTime call ended surprisingly quickly, and she joined him at the edge of the water, slipping her hand through the crook of his arm and leaning her head against his shoulder as they watched Sven flatten himself on his belly, trying to get a better shot of the water.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kristoff leaned his cheek against the top of Anna’s head, the warmth of her hair a welcome reprieve from the icy January wind. “All good?” he asked when she didn’t offer him even a hello.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew without looking that she was chewing on her bottom lip. “Yeah, it’s fine, just...I don’t know. She told me when I texted her last night that she was just running errands today, but she was holding the phone kinda weird, and then it kinda slipped, and it looked like she was in a doctor’s office or something. And I don’t know why she’d lie about that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quiet descended on them again for a moment; Kristoff wanted to support her, but he didn’t know how much she’d feel comfortable saying while Sven was within earshot. He settled for reaching with his free arm to pat her hand. “Maybe later today you can call again and ask where she was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” she said distantly, her brow furrowed as she stared at the snowy landscape. “Maybe.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>There were a lot of things that had surprised Sven on this trip so far; how much like his old self Kristoff seemed, how easily Anna got along with the both of them, how much he liked Irn Bru, how fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>cold</span>
  </em>
  <span> it was-- but Kristoff looking hesitant about leaving a historic site in order to drive over to the tourist trap that was Loch Ness, well, that came as no surprise at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Sven could say anything, though, Anna was there, squeezing Kristoff’s hand in a way she thought no one else could see. “It’s okay,” she said, laughter dancing in her eyes. “I had a feeling it would go this way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t mind?” Kristoff asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not at all. We’ll make sure to bring you back a Nessie for your desk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was strange, watching the exchange between them, how easily they understood each other without having to explain; they were opposites in so many ways, but there was a sort of synergy between them that Sven, if he was being honest, had never believed really existed outside of the cheesy rom-coms his little sister was obsessed with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After agreeing to meet back at the cottage where they were staying in order to cook dinner together that night, Kristoff gave Anna’s hand one last squeeze and waved a fast goodbye to Sven before loping off to examine some old English prison in more depth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just you and me for the afternoon, then, Freckles?” Sven asked, elbowing Anna affectionately. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hell yes,” she said with a bright grin. “And he gave </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> the keys.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How far is it?” Sven asked as he held the door open for her, grinning when she gave him a mock curtsy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About an hour north. Just enough time to lose our voices with a singalong, don’t you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’ll it be? Hamilton soundtrack? Taylor Swift? Classic rock?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All of the above, I think,” she said, already plugging in her phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn. Kris better watch his back, Freckles, you’re a woman after my own heart,” Sven teased, making Anna laugh hard enough that she nearly missed singing the opening line of “Africa”. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was strange, too, how easily the pair of them got along after only a few days together. He couldn’t help but imagine how different it all might have been had it been Anna Kristoff had met that night at the party instead of Rachel, where the three of them might have ended up-- whether it would be somehow even better than this. He couldn’t help but space out as they scream-sang along to the music, glad he knew every song by heart as his mind wandered, ruminating over how it’d all shaken out like this. Anna, thankfully, needed no assistance to drive the hour north, nor any help finding her way to where the Nessie tour boat was docked on the water in the center of the tiny village.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you see his face?” Anna giggled as they climbed together onto the tour boat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, yeah. If looks could kill…” Sven whistled. “Bet we’re the first people to want to go on one of these tours in weeks. Probably pissed we’ve ruined his nap schedule.”</span>
</p><p><span>“Probably thinks we’re completely bonkers for wanting to be out on the water when there’s still snow on the ground. Honestly, I might have to agree with him. Tell me if my nose starts going blue, yeah?”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>Sven laughed heartily as the boat began to creakily cut through the dark water of the lake. “Will do. It’ll be worth it, though-- can you imagine if we surprise Nessie, too, and see her out here?”</span></p><p>
  <span>“Welcome to Loch Ness,” a gruff voice said over the intercom, the speaker crackling loud enough they both jumped and burst into laughter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lucky us, getting the boat to ourselves, eh?” Sven said, holding out his arm to escort her to the back of the boat so they could lean over the railing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were quiet as they listened to the captain’s droning explanation of what they were looking at, the icy wind whipping through their hair and against their faces hard enough that it made their eyes water. Eventually the man told them to enjoy the rest of the journey, and they stood in companionable silence together, admiring the glossy, dark waves and snow-laden trees, until beside him, Anna cleared her throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“While we’re alone,” she said, sounding uncharacteristically timid. “I just...I just wanted to tell you that I really care about Kristoff, and I want him to be happy. He means a lot to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Sven said. “It’s, uh, it’s kinda obvious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you kidding me? You guys are fucking sharing a bed, Freckles, and you have all these weird inside jokes...doesn’t take a genius to see how you guys feel about each other.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had a feeling that if her cheeks hadn’t already been red from the cold, they’d definitely be flushing right now. “Oh. Well...I guess I just wanted to tell you that. I know he talks to you a lot, and that you know about Rachel and stuff, so I just...fuck, this is awkward, sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay,” he reassured her, giving her a friendly pat on the back. “He told me you guys have this weird pact to like...talk about dating or whatever after I leave. Not sure why it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> approval that matters this much, but whatever. You’ve definitely got it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna bit her lip. “You...you really think it’s okay? Like...do you think it’ll work out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not a psychic, Freckles, but...look.” He sighed and ran a hand over his hair. “I think that sometimes it gets to a point when you’re waiting just to wait. And waiting doesn’t guarantee it’ll work out, you know? You just kinda have to get in there and do it. But if you’re worried about fucking up your friendship or whatever...nah. Kristoff’s not that kind of guy. You’ll be alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You really think so?” she asked hopefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit, Freckles, why are you asking </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Didn’t I tell you about all my Tinder fails?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughed and elbowed him affectionately. “I don’t know! Kristoff told me you were a love expert! I thought I could trust you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Next to him, yeah, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> am. Good fucking luck with that, kid.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The afternoon with Sven had gone beautifully-- so much so, in fact, that Anna was starting to dread him returning to New York, even if his leaving meant that it’d finally be time to have </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> conversation. But then again, after talking to him…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All evening, she’d been poring over what he said, weighing his advice carefully as she watched him and Kristoff working in tandem to make dinner while she worked on a homework assignment. At dinner, too, in between friendly ribbing and hearing about what Kristoff had learned on his solo expedition today, she found herself wondering if he was right, if putting it all off had been a waste. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not entirely</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she decided; </span>
  <em>
    <span>now things are better with Elsa, and he can stand up to Rachel, and you’re both ready, but putting it off longer…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>After dinner Sven excused himself to his bedroom upstairs, while Kristoff, after Anna insisted she could do the dishes on her own-- “you cooked, I clean,” she’d said, shooing him out the door-- was sitting on the wooden swing on the front porch, admiring the clear night sky and crystalline stars. A question was weighing heavily on her as she scrubbed a little harder than necessary at the pots and pans-- more than one, really, but with each passing moment, she found herself realizing that the answer to all of them was a resounding </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that was why, when there was no spot in the kitchen left unscrubbed, she found herself slipping outside to join Kristoff on the swing. “Hey,” he said, sliding to one end of the swing so she could have the other and looking up at her with the lopsided smile that still made her heart flutter even after all these months.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well-- she’d waited long enough. No point in putting it off further, was there? “I talked to Sven today,” Anna said, her voice quavering. “About-- about everything. And it made me realize...what’s the point in putting it off til he’s gone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The wooden swing creaked beneath them as Kristoff leaned closer to her, brows knitted in concern. “Are you cold? We can go in and talk if you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” she said quickly, shaking her head and looking down at her lap, only to hear another creak and a muttered curse as he pulled his hoodie off and passed it over to her. She pulled it on, the lingering warmth of him steadying her as it always did. It occurred to her, not quite for the first time but certainly for the surest, that Kristoff loved her in a way she’d never expected and knew she might never fully understand-- but she knew with equal certainty that she loved him the same, and that thought was what gave her the courage to reach towards him, her fingers trembling as she slid them along the edge of the wooden swing until they brushed up against his. She heard his sudden sharp intake of breath, and then he lifted his hand and settled it carefully over hers, nearly covering it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It scares me,” she admitted, too nervous to meet his eyes. “How much this matters. How much </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>matter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Surely he could hear how loudly her heart was pounding, how quickly; part of her wondered if he felt just as nervous, but his voice was steady when he said, “If it scares you, Anna, then we don’t have to--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” she interrupted quickly, looking up instinctively and feeling her chest squeeze when she saw his furrowed brow, “no, that’s not what I mean, I-- I still want to do it. If you want to. Not </span>
  <em>
    <span>do it</span>
  </em>
  <span> do it-- I mean that, too, eventually, definitely-- but I mean more like-- the being together part-- like boyfriend and girlfriend or we don’t have to call it that or--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want that, too,” he said, his eyes so warm she thought she might cry. “And we can call it whatever you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How are you so calm?” Anna whispered; her hand was still trembling so hard she knew he had to feel it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honestly, I don’t know,” he admitted, and they both laughed softly. “But I...I guess it’s because you’re here with me. Even though it’s you I ought to be nervous about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” was all she could manage to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiled in response, and she couldn’t resist sliding further down the swing to sit closer to him, enough that their legs were pressed together. Kristoff reached forward, brushing a strand of hair off her forehead before cupping her cheek in his palm. Emboldened, Anna set her hands on his shoulders, a curl of warmth flaring in her chest when she saw his Adam’s apple bob in response. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you wanted to kiss me right now,” she whispered, sliding one hand up to settle on the back of his neck, “that would, um, that would be really good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” he asked, leaning in slowly, as if he was giving her one last chance to change her mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded, just barely, and the hint of a smile crossed his face before he closed the gap between them, his lips soft and warm as they brushed against hers with the utmost care. For a moment Anna was too stunned by the realization that it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally</span>
  </em>
  <span> happening to respond, but when he began to pull away she quickly leaned in closer and kissed him back, all the wanting and hoping and yearning she’d been feeling for the last five months suddenly pouring forth as her lips moved recklessly against his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A faint moan escaped him as his lips parted under the soft brush of her tongue, and suddenly Anna couldn’t bear even the slightest distance between them; she shifted to straddle his lap, squeaking with surprise when the swing shifted beneath them. Kristoff only laughed and wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her tightly against his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re alright, baby,” he said, the pet name sending a wave of warmth through her. “I’ve got you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Closing her eyes, she rested her forehead against his, smiling faintly when she felt him brush the tip of his nose against hers. “Worth the wait, do you think?” she asked, sliding a hand up to stroke idly through his hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Definitely,” he breathed, and kissed her again.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. these happy golden days</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I am so, so sorry for the delay in this update! My life got pretty crazy in mid-July. I started a new job and work full time in person. It's awesome and I love it, but it's a people-facing job, so I come home too exhausted to do much of anything at night. Now that I'm getting used to it, though, time to get back to writing :) Hopefully the rest of this fic is worth the wait.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It took Kristoff a solid minute of listening to a beeping alarm before he realized that he was not, in fact, still in a dream, that a still-dozing Anna really did have an arm thrown over his waist and her hair spilling over onto his pillow. He fumbled behind him to turn off the alarm, wary of waking her, and let out a silent sigh of wonder. How far they’d come in a few months-- a few weeks-- even just one night, and how badly he wished he could spend the whole day here in bed with her. But his hair really needed a wash, and his teeth needed brushing, and Sven would be waiting for them downstairs, and so he began to pull away. Before he could get up, though, a slender leg snaked its way around his. “No,” Anna mumbled, her voice half-muffled by the pillow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff chuckled and brushed some of the wild tangle of her hair off her cheek. “No what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No getting up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s our last day on holiday,” she said, opening her eyes just wide enough to glare at him. “And you’re going to enjoy it properly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m definitely enjoying it so far,” he said, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to her forehead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna took the opportunity to entwine her arms around his waist again. “Ten more minutes,” she insisted, burying her face in his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if my hair doesn’t dry before we go out, and I catch a chill and die?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can borrow my hairdryer,” she said with a yawn, nuzzling her nose against his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only response was a faint snore and the slight slackening of her arms around him. Well-- ten more minutes never hurt anyone, did it? He grabbed blindly at his phone, set another alarm, and rolled onto his side to pull Anna closer.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s gonna seem so quiet around here without you,” Anna said, rising up on her toes to throw her arms around Sven’s neck in a tight hug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughed as he hugged her back, tight enough that her feet left the ground. “I’m sure you’ll find something to occupy you,” he teased.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her cheeks reddened for at least the three hundredth time in the last twenty-four hours. Yesterday morning, tired of waiting for them downstairs, Sven had barged into their bedroom at the cottage, only to discover them still in their pajamas, Kristoff’s hair a mess and Anna’s toothbrush in her hand, kissing frantically. He had wolf whistled, which had made Anna squeal with shock and jump back far enough that she knocked her elbow on a bedpost and earned herself a nasty bruise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once they’d all met up again outside-- fully dressed and feeling terribly awkward-- Sven had cleared his throat and said, “Well. About time, I guess. Just promise me you’re not going to do that in the middle of the art gallery this afternoon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Sven--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course not,” Anna had said quickly. “No worries. Let’s just forget it happened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, now, if I told you to just </span>
  <em>
    <span>forget</span>
  </em>
  <span> about that, I think Bjorgman would kill me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to kill you now, you fu--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right then!” Anna said loudly, clapping her hands. “Quit arguing so I can get a coffee before we set off, or else I’ll be too cross with either of you to do anything but yell at you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, despite all the teasing that had followed, Anna really </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>going to miss Sven terribly once he left. She could see now why he meant so much to Kristoff-- and had to admit that even after only a week, he meant quite a lot to her, now, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Regretfully, she pulled away from him so Kristoff could say his goodbyes. The two men hugged each other tightly, clapping each other wordlessly on the back. “You have to text as soon as you get through security,” Anna said as Sven took hold of his suitcase handle. “And once you find your gate, and right before takeoff, and when you land, and--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will,” he promised. “And when I get home, too. And you better text me, too, Freckles. Keep me up to date on how the museum and school’s going, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if he could sense that her vision was suddenly growing blurry, Sven let go of the suitcase and came over to hug her one last time. “I’ll miss you, too,” he whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” she whispered back. “For...what you said to me. And for coming. And for...well. All of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they parted once more, she could have sworn Sven’s eyes looked a little watery, too.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had thought at first that there might be some awkwardness between them, transitioning back to everyday life now that everything had changed. But, to his surprise, it felt like nothing had changed at all-- only gotten better, even the most mundane things. Doing the dishes was better now that every time their fingers brushed under the water, Anna would blush and give him a bright smile; folding laundry wasn’t a chore when it meant seeing her laugh when he tossed the warm sheets over her head before passing her a pile of socks; and, of course, to his great relief, he was relegated to sleeping on the sofa no more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was, so far, all they had done on the bed-- sleeping, that is, sweetened with a heaping side of good night kisses-- but he didn’t mind; there was no sense in rushing any of it. He wanted to savor every second of being with Anna, wanted to drag out every moment and enjoy it down to the last drop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mornings, in particular, were his favorite part of the day now, now that they meant that in exchange for a steaming cup of coffee he got a sleepy kiss, and that at particularly cold seven o’clocks, Anna would wrap her arms tightly around him from behind as he scrambled the eggs, and she would bury her face in the soft fabric of the bathrobe she’d gotten him for Christmas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which was what she was doing now. The one downside was, of course, that it made it nearly impossible to understand what she was trying to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Kristoff asked after a particularly confusing string of mumbles. “I have no idea what you just said, baby.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turned, resting her cheek instead of her nose between his shoulder blades. “I said I’m going to die of boredom while you’re gone this weekend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure you’ll find something to do. Cleaning the oven, maybe, or scrubbing some grout.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without even looking, he knew she had wrinkled her nose. “Or maybe I’ll just watch </span>
  <em>
    <span>TOWIE</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff laughed as he stirred the eggs. “And for once, I’ll be wishing I was watching it, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hopefully this weekend won’t be </span>
  <em>
    <span>too</span>
  </em>
  <span> bad. If Rachel kicks off too much, just call me, and I’ll drive right over to Manchester and give her what for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Much appreciated. But I think I can handle myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hoped he sounded convincing enough as he said it. Whether she believed it or not, though, Anna didn’t say. Instead she rose up on her toes to kiss the back of his neck. “Well, any time she starts getting to be too much to handle, just think about the welcome home I’ll give you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallowed hard, unable to come up with any sort of reply that made sense. Anna just laughed and pulled away. “I’ll start on the toast, then,” she said casually, as if she hadn’t just set his heart thundering so hard it felt like it might burst.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Please, God and whoever else is listening, let him think this is sexy.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been quite some time since she’d tried to be anything even </span>
  <em>
    <span>close</span>
  </em>
  <span> to that, but today-- well. She really had meant what she’d said about thinking about his welcome home when Rachel got to be too much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tugged absentmindedly at her collar once again, pulling it back into place, but it was no use; it was Kristoff’s St. Andrew’s sweatshirt, so broad in the shoulders that it refused to stay centered, and so long that not </span>
  <em>
    <span>nearly</span>
  </em>
  <span> as much of her legs were showing as she would have liked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kris?” she said, her voice higher-pitched than she’d meant it to be as she peeked into the bedroom, where he was finishing packing his duffel bag.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, great timing, was just about to call and ask if you could help me look for my sweatsh-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna flushed all the way down to her chest as she took a slow step closer, her blush only darkening as his wide eyes raked over her. “Oh...do you mind terribly if I borrow it for the weekend?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come here,” Kristoff said in answer, his voice low and husky as he sat down on the edge of the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna stilled for a moment, stunned by the want that darkened his eyes, before sauntering slowly over to him, hiding a smirk as she watched him track each sway of her hips. “Are you gonna miss me, baby?” she asked sweetly as she came to stand between his parted knees, draping her hands over his shoulders. </span>
</p><p><span>In response, he set his own hands on the outsides of her thighs, letting his palms skim slowly up and down her freckled skin. Goosebumps rose under his touch, a slow smile unfurling over his features in response. “Bet you’ll miss me more,” he said, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Nobody to make you coffee in the morning, nobody to watch TV</span> <span>with…”</span></p><p>
  <span>Anna scoffed at that. “Please. I’ll just call Ryder.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bet he won’t kiss you good night, though,” Kristoff teased, giving her a slow wink as she rolled her eyes and ruffled his hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You just wait and see, mister,” she said mock sternly. “You’re going to be lonely and calling me before you’ve even passed Edinburgh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah. Gonna be calling you way sooner than that. Five hours in a car with my ex-girlfriend, and I plan to spend the whole time avoiding talking to her at all costs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Drawing up all the courage she had in her, Anna leaned close enough that the tip of her nose brushed against his and whispered, “Well. Maybe I can give you something to daydream about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh</span>
  <em>
    <span>, god</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that was the corniest thing she’d ever said-- but it did what she wanted. A low moan escaped Kristoff as he tilted his chin up to kiss her hungrily, his hands sliding up to grasp her ass and give it a teasing squeeze. Anna whimpered and kissed him just as fiercely in return, her tongue brushing languorously against his as she began to climb onto the bed to straddle his lap and--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A loud honk sounded from outside, startling her enough that she nearly fell onto the floor. Kristoff caught her with a groan of disappointment as she looked out the window and saw Rachel’s little red sedan waiting across the street. “Ah, shit,” she muttered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She glanced back from the window and was surprised to find that the mischievous expression on his face had fallen away, replaced by a look of genuine disappointment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just a weekend, Kris,” she said, gently trailing her thumb over the crease that had formed between his drawn-together brows. “You can survive a couple of days with her. You’ll be back before you know it. And I bet you’ll enjoy the conference, really. All kinds of history nerds there doing...history nerd things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rachel honked again, two annoyed beeps this time, and Anna rolled her eyes before leaning down to kiss him once more, this time a soft brush of her lips against his cheek. “Guess you’d better hurry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she pulled back, the look of mischief had returned to his eyes. “Come see me off?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She raised her eyebrows but didn’t question him as she tugged on a pair of leggings before trailing after him towards the door. He held it open for her before hoisting his suitcase up and tossing it onto the sidewalk. Then, without further ceremony, he laced one hand through Anna’s hair as the other settled on her lower back, and he dipped her low and kissed her hard, there on the stoop, in full view of Rachel and anyone else who happened to be out in spite of the rain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he raised her back up and they pulled apart, both of them were breathing hard. Wide-eyed, Anna found herself at a loss for words as she stared up at his flushed cheeks. A low chuckle escaped him as he leaned down to kiss her temple. “See you soon,” he whispered before pulling away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Uh-huh. You, too,” Anna stammered as he stepped down to the walkway and took hold of his suitcase once more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The plan had been for </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be daydreaming of </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> the whole weekend, but Anna found that it had backfired completely. All she could think about for two days was him; as she made supper, the thought was his broad hands sliding tantalizingly slowly up and down her bare skin; in the shower, she thought of his stubble brushing over her neck as her fingers slid between her legs; and in bed, she fell asleep to the thought of how much cozier it would be if only he was here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She woke, cotton-mouthed and woozy, to the sound of her phone ringing. Blinking blearily as she fumbled for it where it lay on the nightstand, she tried to make sense of it; it was still so dark outside that she had no idea who in the world could be calling at this hour of the night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello?” she said with a yawn as she accepted the call.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello. I’m trying to reach a Miss Anna Delle?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Speaking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Miss Delle, this is Dr. Jones at St. Luke’s. We have your sister in for observation, and you’re listed as her emergency contact.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Anna asked, her heart pounding as she sat fully upright. “Why is she in hospital?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We think she might have fainted due to pre-eclampsia, so we’re running some tests right now and plan to keep her in at least overnight--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pre-what? Isn’t that a pregnancy thing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, but your sister and the baby should both be fine, after--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>What baby?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. gas station sandwiches</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>HELLO okay so basically last chapter was Kristoff leaving Friday afternoon, then Anna's weekend was glossed over and ended with her getting the phone call at like 3 am Sunday morning</p><p>so this chapter picks up with Kristoff's POV on Friday afternoon again</p><p>B)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Thank God Anna had introduced him to podcasts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The second he had fastened his seatbelt, before Rachel had even reached for the gear shift, he’d popped in his earbuds and turned the volume way up on a show about French history. After what seemed like a reasonable amount of time, he closed his eyes, pretending to have fallen asleep, and before much longer, he actually had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was woken up by a small hand on his shoulder, shaking gently. “Anna?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not quite,” came the dry response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmf--” he groaned, rubbing his hand over his face as he sat up. “What time is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Almost seven. Stopped to get gas and a sandwich. You getting out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded and opened the door with a yawn. Only another hour or so to go, then. They’d left St. Andrews at three-- Oaken had shooed everyone out of the office at noon, insisting it was to make sure they got to Manchester on time. “And Anna’s going home, too, because I know you’ll need her to help you pack,” he’d added with a wink. “And to send you off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A smile appeared on his face at the thought of the send-off she’d given him; it only broadened when he remembered how he had said he’d be calling her almost as soon as they left. Well...might as well make up for lost time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was beginning to think that she’d lost her phone again when she finally picked up. “Hey, Kris,” she said, breathless. “Sorry. Just realized my phone fell out of my pocket when you kissed me on the step. Had to go digging through the holly bush to find it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s the damage this time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just some scratches on my hands, but no blood for once. And the phone survived, thank God.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He chuckled as he shifted the phone to rest on his shoulder, leaning his head to the side to hold it in place as he reached for a ham sandwich. “Glad to hear it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Surprised it took you this long to call me. Is everything going okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh-huh. Listened to that podcast you recommended and then fell asleep pretty fast. Not because it was boring or anything,” he added quickly. “I just finished an episode, and I sort of already had my eyes closed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Were you pretending to be asleep while you were listening?” she asked, amused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know me so well,” he replied, grabbing a bottle of water and nestling it in the crook of his arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are you guys now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right where you get on the M55 to go to Blackpool.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not far now, then. Think you’ll survive?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He peered through the window and eyed Rachel where she was already waiting by the car; he expected to see her arms crossed and a scowl on her face, but instead she gave him a bright smile. He forced a smile back. “Not looking so good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna giggled at that. “Guess that means it’s about time for me to learn how to make my own coffee.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Too bad I haven’t had time to update my will. I’d leave you all my sweatshirts. Look better on you anyway,” he said as he got in line to check out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re my husband, remember? I think I get all that stuff automatically.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His heart warmed to hear her say that, even if it was a lie. “Oh, yeah. Keep forgetting how lucky I got with that one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You big silly sap,” she replied, a smile audible in her voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, I’m almost at the register now, so I’ve got to go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmkay. Have a good rest of the trip. Text me when you get there, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bye, Kris.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bye, baby.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was still grinning as he slid the phone into his back pocket. The gray-haired woman at the till glanced down at his left hand before giving him a knowing look. “Newlyweds?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he said sheepishly as he handed over his card.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gave him a fond smile. “I remember those days.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hesitated a little as he picked up his bag; he would never see her again, most likely, so there was nothing to be embarrassed about--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does it go away?” he blurted out. “Feeling like this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes were soft as she reached across the counter and patted his hand. “Yes. But only because it gets better, long as you take care of it. No spending your anniversary in the pub with your mates, alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff laughed. “Got it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>To his surprise, the hour and a half left it took to get to Manchester passed quickly, even without him falling back asleep. After finishing her own sandwich, Rachel began asking him about which panels he wanted to attend the next day, whether he expected to run into any of their old colleagues again. It was...nice, almost; it felt almost like he was meeting her all over again. She had a way of making you feel special, feel like it </span>
  <em>
    <span>meant</span>
  </em>
  <span> something about you if she bothered to talk to you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop, Kris,” she said, breathless with laughter as her eyes sparkled green. “You’re going to make me wreck the car!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was laughing, too; some sign they’d seen on the side of the road had reminded them of an old Ancient Civ professor who’d once taught an entire lecture with his pants unzipped. “Okay, but I’m just saying, if we see him here--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hopefully </span>
  <em>
    <span>someone</span>
  </em>
  <span> this time would have the decency to tell him to XYZ.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We had the decency! We were all just still mad at him about the midterm!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were both still giggling as Rachel pulled into a parking spot at the hotel. Already the lot was nearly full; Kristoff had been dreading being in such a crowd, but maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad this time. Feeling magnanimous, he waved off Rachel’s attempts to help with the luggage and instead carrying both of their suitcases into the lobby. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi!” the woman behind the counter said with a bright smile. “Here for the historians’ conference?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What gave it away?” Rachel asked with a smile. “His sweater vest?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anna said it was nice,” Kristoff contended.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a second he saw the flash of something in her eyes, but then her smile broadened as she pulled out her wallet. “Reservation should be under Oaken?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah-- here it is! One room, king-sized bed, sound about right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff opened his mouth to interject, but before he could, Rachel said sweetly, “Yes, that’s us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment he only watched in horror as the front desk worker began to pull together their room keys and brochure; of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course</span>
  </em>
  <span> their reservation had gotten fucked up and he’d have to spend </span>
  <em>
    <span>two nights</span>
  </em>
  <span> in bed with Rachel and--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually,” he interrupted, his voice sounding suddenly too loud, “I think it’s supposed to be two separate beds. Right, Rach?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The desk worker-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>Alicia</span>
  </em>
  <span>, her name badge said-- frowned. “It says here the king-sized bed was specially requested.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could see the tension in Rachel’s shoulders, but for once, it only made him feel more confident. “Oh, there must have been a misunderstanding. Maybe Tess thought it was my wife coming with me, Rach, d’you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t reply, but the smile on her face looked awfully strained.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!” Alicia tittered. “Well-- oh, goodness, we’ll get this fixed up for you. I can switch you to two separate rooms with a queen if you’d like. It’d be about fifty pounds extra--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not a problem,” Kristoff replied with a broad smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ease that had bloomed between them in the car was entirely gone by the time they stood side by side in the elevator. He had a feeling that it had </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span>, in fact, been Tess’s fault; he had a distinct memory of Rachel volunteering to help her out with some phone calls a few weeks-- which, at the time, had seemed entirely out of character for her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” he said as the doors dinged and opened on the fourth floor, “this is me. Night, Rach.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He left her and her suitcase in a stony silence.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <em>
    <span>Just got in. Room smells like mothballs, but it’s not bad.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>glad you guys got there safe </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>😊 </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His fingers hesitated over the screen for a moment, considering telling her about what had happened in the lobby. He could imagine her face already, how she’d laugh as she hugged him and--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No. Better to wait and tell her in person.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His phone buzzed again, and he grinned at the sight of a photo of Anna sitting alone in the living room with a glass of wine watching trash TV.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>wish you were here!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No, you don’t. You know I’d be taking my sweatshirt back if I was there.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>true </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>guess i wouldn’t have anything to wear at all then :/</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Guess not. Maybe you should actually do something about your laundry </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>pile, then.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KRIS</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I WAS TRYING TO BE SEXY</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>im not doing it til u get back ur better at folding shirts</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I know you were. It would have worked if this room didn’t smell so weird</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>. And okay, as long as you help me fold the fitted sheet.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>PS- I know this is just a ruse to make me help build a blanket fort again.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>obviously </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>but it’s gonna work and that’s all that matters </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>💗</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He stared at the message for a long moment before sighing and pulling up his messages to Sven.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Help. What does 💗 mean? Is that an I love you heart?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>you’re lucky you caught me on a pee break bro</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>it’s an “i can’t say i love you yet bc it’s too early </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>but if we were still just friends i would say ily right now” heart</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thanks for clearing that up.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>you didn’t understand any of that did you</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No comment.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This was why he liked history. Emojis had thrown an unnecessary wrench into the realm of human communication. The world had been much better when it took six weeks to deliver a five-page letter written in ink that smudged with every raindrop; at least people just used </span>
  <em>
    <span>words</span>
  </em>
  <span> back then.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They exchanged a few more messages, just chatting about stupid things, and when Anna hadn’t replied for ten minutes, he knew the wine had kicked in and she’d dozed off. Lucky her; he still felt wide awake. This bed somehow felt even less comfortable than the sofa. Even if Anna was here, between that and his nerves about being around so many people tomorrow, he had a feeling he’d have a hard time going to sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then again, if Anna was here…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well. There was more than one benefit to having a room to himself. He got to his feet and headed towards the bathroom, his mind far away from the cold tile beneath his bare feet and the showerhead that was just a little too low for him. Instead, as he stepped into the shower and drew the curtain shut, he saw only Anna in his sweatshirt, that teasing smile tugging at the corner of her lips, and with a sigh, he wrapped his hand around his hardening cock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He squeezed his eyes closed, remembering the feel of her pert little ass against his palm, the taste of her strawberry lip balm, the soft moan that had escaped her as she straddled his lap and ground down against him. Was she thinking about him like this tonight, too, about the welcome back she had promised him? Was she touching herself like this, freckled fingers sliding down to the apex of her thighs with a contented sigh; would she say his name when she--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he groaned, just the thought enough to push him over the edge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Later, as he laid under the thin blanket and tried to make the pillow feel less like a sack of sand, his phone buzzed on the nightstand. He reached for it so quickly he nearly dropped it; after a moment’s fumbling he squinted at the screen, too bright in the midnight darkness of the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>sorry! i totally conked out on the sofa. in bed now missing you</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His mouth suddenly felt very, </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> dry.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah?</span>
  </em>
  <em></em>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>mhm. was thinking about what we’re going to do when you get back</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Christ. She was going to kill him before he even had the </span>
  <em>
    <span>chance</span>
  </em>
  <span> to get back.</span>
</p><p>.</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>i mean right now im thinking about how ive gotten used to sleeping with u here </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>but earlier it was that</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Me, too. On both counts.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>.</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>well. good to know i’m not the only one excited about sunday</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>but for right now you have more important things to think about </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>like revolutions and stuff</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, this is definitely more important. But I do have to </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>get up early so I can avoid Rachel in the breakfast </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>room.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>lollllll</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>💗can’t wait to have you back home. have fun tomorrow!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Night. Sweet dreams 💗</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. the gate</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>was gonna write more about his time at the end of the conference but this chapter was long enough lol so it picks up Sunday morning</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It had been only a weekend, but already Kristoff was aching to hold Anna again. He hadn't heard from her since the night before. She always liked to sleep in on Sundays, but it was nearly noon by the time they pulled up to the house; surely she was awake. He couldn’t get out of Rachel’s car and up the sidewalk fast enough; he was half-tempted to toss the suitcase onto the lawn and deal with it later, but instead he kept it in hand as he unlocked the door, expecting to see Anna in the entryway, already reaching towards him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it was empty. The light in the kitchen was on; she was home, but where--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a creak from upstairs, and he grinned, heading for the staircase. Before he’d taken the first step, though, he heard Anna’s worried voice ask, “So they’re sure you’re good to go home?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slowed down, setting the suitcase by the bottom of the staircase before heading up it. This was nothing like the welcome home he’d been looking forward to, but as long as Anna was okay--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just-- just take care of yourself, okay? Do whatever the doctor told you to. I-- oh, okay. Yeah, you better take it. Bye, Els.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff crossed the short landing and stood in the doorway. She was standing, her back to him and her phone still in her hand, head raised high.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anna?” he said softly, wondering if she hadn’t heard him come in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Kris,” she replied, her voice too high, too tight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took a hesitant step closer to her. “Is...everything okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shrugged but didn’t turn. “Turns out my sister is almost eight months pregnant, and the guy dipped.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And she passed out at work and went to the hospital.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another step towards her. “Is she okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Loaded question.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was right behind her now. He waited, and after a moment she sighed and leaned back just a little, her head falling back against him. Immediately his arms were around her waist, his cheek resting on the top of her head, as if he could surround her entirely if he only tried hard enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m here, baby,” he said quietly. “Whatever you need me to do, just tell me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a soft </span>
  <em>
    <span>thunk </span>
  </em>
  <span>as she tossed her phone onto the bed before turning in his arms and burying her face in his shoulder. His heart sank as he realized her cheeks were already wet with tears. “I’m here,” he whispered again, kissing the top of her head. “I’m right here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna drew in several shuddering breaths before the faint whimpers that were escaping her finally coalesced into words. “She’s by herself. There’s...there’s no one there with her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And there it was. The blow he’d convinced himself that this time, maybe, just this once, wouldn’t come. His arms tightened reflexively around her waist, as if by holding on a little tighter, maybe she wouldn’t say--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have to go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then she fell apart.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay,” Kristoff whispered for the dozenth time, stroking her hair as she sobbed into his already-damp shirt. “It’ll be alright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had ended up sitting on the floor; she’d crawled onto his lap and clung to him as tightly as she could, burying her face in his shoulder as she tried to catch her breath enough to explain. Slowly it had all fallen into place; the tense phone calls, the refusal to send pictures, the strange FaceTime call from a doctor’s office that had shaken Anna in the highlands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry,” she said, the words coming in a gasp. “We were-- we were figuring it out-- and we were-- when you got home-- I’m so </span>
  <em>
    <span>sorry</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Kris--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even now, she was more focused on him than herself, and his heart ached for her. “It’s okay,” he said again. “Deep breaths, can you do that for me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt her nod weakly against him and draw in a shuddering breath. His hand continued running slowly over her hair as she managed to calm herself down; he realized that she was doing so by timing her breaths to match his and felt the ache only grow as he realized he had never loved her more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna turned a little so that her nose brushed against the side of his neck, shifting one hand to press against his chest, her fingers tracing absentminded patterns over his heart. “She’s gonna be okay, though,” she said. “So that’s the important thing, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he said, not trusting himself to look down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I’ll-- I’ll…oh, god, Kris, she just passed out in the middle of the day while she was working in the kitchen, but Elsa...it’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>like</span>
  </em>
  <span> her. She’s always okay, she never does anything reckless or-- and she’s all by herself, and I I have to-- I have to help her, I--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turned and buried her face in his shirt as her shoulders began to shake once more. Kristoff closed his eyes and leaned his cheek against her head. He didn’t bother with words this time; it felt like they were beyond them now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How foolish, how </span>
  <em>
    <span>reckless</span>
  </em>
  <span> of him to have thought so many times that there was no need to rush, that they would have all the time in the world. He should have said something that night he was sick-- at that party when she’d saved him from Rachel-- the evening the heater had been broken-- the first time she’d slept in his arms-- god, that very first second when he’d laid eyes on her and inexplicably thought </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh, so there you are</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna sat up and drew in a long, shuddering breath as she wiped at her eyes. “Sorry. I think I’m done now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t apologize,” Kristoff said, setting a hand on her cheek. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna gave him a watery smile. “Sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He inclined his head just enough to rest his forehead against hers, a sigh escaping him as she brushed the tip of her nose against his. He would have been content to never move from this spot, to never want anything more but to hold her just like this, to never even think of saying goodbye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he forced himself to ask, “How long will you still-- I mean, when are you leaving?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She took a deep breath, her eyes fluttering shut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tomorrow.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Despite her insistence that she was going to stay up all night, within twenty minutes of crawling into bed beside him, Anna was fast asleep. As badly as he wanted to make the most of their last night together, Kristoff didn’t mind; she was exhausted like he’d never seen her before. And in sleep, at least, she seemed to have found some peace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shifted slightly beneath her weight, a faint smile appearing on his face when he heard a faint disgruntled mumble escape her in response. He was lying on his back, one arm wrapped around her as she lay half across him, her cheek resting just over his heart and one small hand slipped up under the hem of his t-shirt. It didn’t escape him that this was just how he had held her that first night on the sofa when neither of them had meant to fall asleep; how much and how little had changed in the few months since then. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I love you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought, wishing he had the strength to say it out loud to her, even if it was only just this once. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I love you, Anna Delle, more than I ever thought was possible.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She stirred against him, the hand under his shirt shifting enough that a burst of hushed laughter escaped him. “Kris?” she asked sleepily. “What is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You just tickled me, baby, go back to sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmmmkay, I-- wait, no!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna sat up, rubbing at her eyes with her fists. Kristoff rose up on his elbows, quirking an eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was gonna stay up all night with you,” she said, a pout beginning to appear on her face. “But you let me fall asleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed and sat all the way up, leaning back against the headboard. “You needed it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shook her head, turning to face him as she rose up on her knees and straddled his lap. “I can sleep on the plane.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even as she said it, her face screwed up in a massive yawn. Kristoff chuckled as he set</span>
</p><p>
  <span>his hands flat on her back, his thumbs sliding gently up and down. “Looks to me like you need to sleep now </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ignoring him, she combed her fingers through his hair, tugging gently until he let his head fall back. She leaned down and kissed him, slowly at first as their lips pressed together in an easy, familiar rhythm, before letting her tongue flicker against his. A low moan escaped him as his hands slid down to cup her ass, pulling her flush against him. “Gonna miss this,” she said with a sigh of satisfaction as Kristoff’s lips began to trail down the side of her neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” he murmured, smirking when he felt her shiver in response. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh-huh. Gonna-- gonna miss kissing you whenever I want. Especially in front of Rachel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nipped teasingly at her collarbone, earning a squeal of surprise. “Let’s not talk about my ex while we’re doing this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not?” she asked, her hands tugging at the hem of his shirt until he leaned back and allowed her to pull it off. “You never did tell me how this weekend went.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt his cheeks redden as she sat back on her heels, an admiring look in her eyes as she ran her hands appreciatively over his exposed chest. “It was okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon, baby, you gotta give me a little more than </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she said, pretending to be stern as she pulled back again and crossed her arms over her chest. “I wanna know every dirty detail.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff rolled his eyes. “I got to learn all about the excavations around the Antonine Wall, and I made friends with some historians from Lisbon, and when Rachel tried to get us a room with one bed, I got my own room instead. Happy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, she just looked at him, her expression indecipherable as her arms fell back to her sides. Kristoff frowned, tilting his head to the side. “What’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You told her to fuck off?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well...in a more polite way, yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” she whispered, her eyes suddenly bright. “Oh, Kris, I’m so proud of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neither of them moved at first, not even when tears began to roll down Anna’s cheeks once more. It wasn’t until a soft sob escaped her that Kristoff sat up and wrapped his arms tightly around her, burying his face in her shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I love you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought again as she ran a trembling hand through his hair. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I love you, I love you, I love you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But still he didn’t say it, not even when her sniffling ceased and he could bring himself to look at her again, not when they shifted to lay on their sides again with their noses nearly brushing, not even when her eyes began to flutter shut once more. Not a word escaped him, not even a sound, save for a soft snore as he at last followed her into sleep.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sun still hadn’t risen by the time Kristoff’s alarm went off. He opened his eyes unwillingly; it was too damn </span>
  <em>
    <span>cold</span>
  </em>
  <span> this morning, had the heater gone--</span>
</p><p><span>He sat up so fast he felt dizzy. Next to him, the bed was empty. </span><span><br/>
</span> <span>For a long moment he only stared at it; the rumpled sheets, the pillow that still had a dent at the edge from where she had lain as close to him as she could, the complete and utter lack of Anna, and he wondered </span><em><span>oh God, how am I going to do this again and again and again?</span></em></p><p>
  <span>“Kris?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He whipped his head towards the doorway, his shoulders sagging in relief at the sight of Anna hovering in the doorway, a steaming mug in each hand and a weak smile on her face. “What,” she asked softly, “did you really think I’d leave without saying goodbye?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come here,” he said, and she did, setting the mugs on the nightstand before crawling back onto the bed and into his arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She settled her legs over his lap and tucked her face into the crook of his neck as he pulled her close to his chest, leaning his cheek against the top of her head. “Is that what you’re wearing on the plane?” he asked, running his hand up and down her arm, bare except for a short sleeved t-shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh-huh. I got so busy packing I forgot to leave stuff out to wear. And I don’t think I’ll ever get it to shut again if I open it now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pressed a kiss into her hair. “I think you left my sweatshirt on the back of the sofa. Take that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But it’s yours. You got it when we went on that tour, remember.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So? I let you borrow it for the weekend. What’s a little bit longer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even as he said it, an uneasy feeling crept over him; by the way Anna stiffened against him, he knew she felt it, too. But he wasn’t ready to deal with it, not yet, and so he kissed her again and said. “I better hurry up and shower.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had packed even her gloves, and so Kristoff was holding both of her hands between his own when the train pulled up to the station. He let go only to heft her suitcase up the stairs before reaching for her again to help her up. They had the whole car to themselves; the 5:20 to Edinburgh on a Monday was, evidently, not particularly popular.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment the ticket collector had left them with a sleepy yawn and a wave, Anna slid closer to Kristoff, throwing her legs over his lap and tucking herself against his side as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What time is your flight again?” he asked, trying his best to keep his voice light.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“8:50 to Heathrow, then 11:15 to Boston.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What time’ll it be when you land?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seven-thirty here. Two thirty there.” She peeked up at him. “Do you want me to text you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded and snuggled closer to him. “Jane’s giving me a ride to Elsa’s, and from there...well. I guess I’ll just figure it out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds good,” he replied, his voice falsely cheery. “You’ll have to tell me what sunrise looks like from a plane.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a long silence. Kristoff kept his arms around her and his eyes on the dim scenery whizzing by; the snowy moors, the glittering lights of distant villages, the hazy midwinter stars. Next to him, Anna was so still he thought she had fallen asleep, until he heard her whisper something he couldn’t quite make out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, baby?” he asked, glancing down at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you gonna be okay?” she replied, her eyes shining with tears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I am,” he lied. “Don’t worry about me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded with a sniffle. “I’m gonna-- I’m gonna go to the bathroom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She got to her feet and made her way to the far end of the car. As soon as the door closed behind her, Kristoff groaned and buried his face in his hands. After months and months had crawled by with them holding each other just out of reach, everything was just happening so </span>
  <em>
    <span>fast</span>
  </em>
  <span>; one moment he was holding her, and the next he was letting her go-- for how long, he had been trying not to think about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was gone just long enough that he was beginning to worry, and then she reappeared in front of him, her eyes newly reddened and her fingers curled around the cuffs of the sweatshirt. “Are you sure about letting me borrow this sweatshirt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff swallowed hard as she sat down beside him, keeping her distance and not meeting his eyes. “Anna…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because-- because-- oh, God, Kris, I don’t know if I can say it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An icy sense of dread began to seep into his bones. He set one hand on her cheek, smiling weakly when she leaned into the touch. “You’re not coming back, are you?” he asked, clinging to that last second of hope between question and answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pulled his hand gently away from her cheek and laced her fingers between his; when he curled his fingers down between hers, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to each of his knuckles, her lips shaking. “I don’t think I am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” he managed to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a long moment, neither of them dared speak again or even move, and then he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her as close to him as he could. She came willingly, nestling her face in the crook of his neck and curling her fingers into the collar of his sweater. He leaned his cheek against the top of her head and said quietly, “I don’t know what I'm gonna do without you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re going to stay here,” she said softly, “and you’re going to get this museum ready to open, and when that’s done maybe you’ll be the curator, or maybe you’ll go back to school and get that doctorate after all, but whatever you decide to do, I’m going to be so, </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> proud of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Anna</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he said, his voice hoarse, and she squeezed his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s going to be okay,” she whispered. “At least we had a little while.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, like always, she’d turned it sideways from how he’d meant it to be; he’d meant to comfort her, and now here she was holding him close and steadying him even with tear stains still on her own cheeks, and he loved her all the more for it even knowing he was losing her.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kristoff wondered if he was imagining the look of sympathy the man at the check-in counter gave him as he hovered over Anna’s shoulder. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Can he tell</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he wondered</span>
  <em>
    <span>, is it that obvious that we’ve just ended things?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It still didn’t feel real-- and, in a way, he supposed it wasn’t. Certainly the moment her suitcase was taken care of, Anna had slipped her hand back into his and held on tight, and they were both walking far more slowly than normal as the security checkpoint loomed ahead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But at last they could go no farther together, and as Anna came to a halt beside him, he turned to face her, setting his free hand on her cheek one last time. She gave him a wavering smile, her eyes clear and blue and beautiful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t forget to text me,” he reminded her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In London and in Boston.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can call, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” she said, and he knew she wouldn’t; there was no point in dragging it out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” he said, feeling his shoulders sag. “Okay. I’m-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Anna. I don’t know what to say.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She bit her lip and squeezed his hand, and every part of him ached to hear what he knew she was about to say. “Kris, I lo--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t,” he begged softly. “Please, I-- it’d just-- it’d make it too real.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded, and he leaned down and kissed the top of her head, lingering as long as he could, and then he forced himself to take a step back from her. She took hold of her suitcase, gave him one last smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and turned and walked away.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Look back</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>look back, please--</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She did, just before turning the corner, and he raised his hand to give her a wave. She returned the gesture, and then she was gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stood there and waited, five minutes, then ten, until at last he knew there was no longer any point in hoping, and then he shoved his hands into his pockets and turned and walked away.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>On the ride back, he shared the car with an elderly man in a black peacoat, a woman with two small children, and an American couple that had also just come from the airport. He nodded when he made eye contact with them, handed a dropped toy to the smaller of the children, helped the elderly man with his briefcase, and finally stepped onto the platform entirely alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sun was only just beginning to come up as he turned the corner onto their-- his-- street. He wondered if Anna was watching it from the window; if she had closed her eyes to block out the light; if she’d gotten stuck with a middle seat like she’d worried about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door creaked as he turned his key and swung it open. He’d have to fix it this afternoon. He took off his jacket, hung it on the hook, hung the keys next to it for when he left after eating breakfast. He walked into the kitchen, and his eyes landed on the coffee pot, still on where Anna had left it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took out the pot, poured the remnants of the coffee down the drain, rinsed it and put it back. He flicked the button to turn it off, unplugged it, opened the cabinet, and put it away, closing the door a little too forcefully behind it.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>pls forgive me</p><p>thank you molly rhianne and gabi for all your advice writing this chapter!! and thank you laura for your excellent playlists!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. liminal space</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It felt as if she was in a dream, as if she was going to wake up any moment now, surrounded by a pair of strong arms, hear a familiar snore and hold back her laughter before dozing off again, hopefully falling into a more pleasant dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Empty your pockets, please,” the security office said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t got any,” Anna heard herself say. “Leggings.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. Walk through there, please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She did so, collected her carry-on and her purse, walked into the main area of the terminal. Both bags were light; she’d packed in a rush between phone calls to her sister and the hospital and Oaken and the university. She’d only gotten voicemail for the latter two and couldn’t find it in herself to care. What could they even do about it? She was about to be halfway around the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She ought to text Kristoff, tell him she was sorry for leaving things in the closet and the wardrobe and the kitchen and the bathroom and probably even in the yard. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Throw it away if you like</span>
  </em>
  <span>, or </span>
  <em>
    <span>donate it</span>
  </em>
  <span>, or maybe even </span>
  <em>
    <span>sell it all on eBay</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she would say, and instead she’d find a cardboard box on her doorstep two weeks later with it all neatly folded and packed in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t text him. Instead she got in line at Costa, ordered a latte and paid in cash. She poured in two little paper tubes of sugar, stirred it up, took a sip, and threw it away.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had a window seat on the flight to London. The woman next to her put on a black silk eye mask and fell asleep even before they took off, so Anna figured it was okay to crack the window and watch the sun rise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was beautiful, all rosy-fingered like she’d read in some English course years ago, a few stars still sparkling faintly. The clouds were wispy, like torn cotton balls, drifting aimlessly by as if they had nowhere in particular to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes prickled with tears. She didn’t want to tell Kristoff about it; she wanted him to </span>
  <em>
    <span>see</span>
  </em>
  <span> it, wanted him to be here with her, still holding her hand and rubbing little circles on the back of it with his thumb. She wanted to do a crossword with him, share a pair of headphones, split the free peanuts and ginger biscuits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Coffee?” a flight attendant asked as he passed by. She shook her head and turned back to the window.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Her phone buzzed as soon as she switched off airplane mode. Her heart was in her throat as she swiped through the notifications, though it sank back into place as soon as she saw none were from Kristoff.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An email from the university told her that her withdrawals had been processed and that she’d made the cutoff date to get a full refund; a voicemail from the English department confirmed it. There was another voicemail from Oaken, sounding awfully worried, followed by a text.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Anna- Kristoff caught me up about your sister. Hope she is doing well. It’s alright about you leaving. I’d do the same for my siblings. We’ll still have a place for you whenever you make it back. There might be some work you can do stateside if you’re interested. We’ll all miss you, Han’s going to be heartbroken. Will you be back by April? We were just about to send out save the dates.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A lump rose in her throat as she tapped out a reply.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So sorry again about how sudden it is. Give Hannah and Malcolm all my love. I don’t know that I’ll be back by the wedding. Have to see how it goes here. Will be terribly sorry if I miss it, Kris and I already picked out that blender you wanted for your gift. Would love to still help out with the museum however I can. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As soon as she hit send, another thought occurred to her, and she tapped out a quick second message.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Kris came in to work?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The reply came through twenty minutes later as she was forcing down a dry turkey sandwich from Pret. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, just around 11. Told him he could take the whole day off-- Rachel did, said she was tired after all the driving. But he stayed. Ryder’s keeping him occupied with some sporrans. We’ll take care of him for you. You worry about your sister. And thanks in advance for the blender, Malcolm’s on a health kick. All smoothies all the time here. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her eyes blurred with tears. She set down the sandwich with shaking hands and dabbed at her eyes with a scratchy brown napkin, hoping desperately that no one saw; that if they did, they’d leave it be, chalking it up to just another casualty of long-distance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Part of her still regretted that it wasn’t, that she hadn’t hung on to Kristoff and begged him to wait for her. But if she had asked him to, he would have, and that was the problem, just as she knew that if he had asked her to stay, she would have. And either of those would have led to an ending far more drawn out than the one they were enduring right now, a bitter, resentful one that tainted all the happier times that had come before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Better to leave it this way, to know that perhaps when the ache wasn’t so deep they could be friends, that maybe someday when she came back to visit she’d see him in the shops with another woman and be able to smile and wave and ask how the museum was going, how the kids were, whether they were enjoying the weather.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The turkey sandwich roiled in her stomach as she got to her feet and cleared the table, swiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span>-- sweatshirt. Her flight left in just over an hour; if she didn’t quit crying, she was going to have one hell of a headache.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>
    <span>It scared her half to death when Ryder called and said “Your husband’s passed out on his keyboard,” and seeing the way Kristoff stumbled up the stairs had done little to assuage her worries. His eyes are glassy as she hands him a folded set of pajamas; does he even know he’s made it home?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“There you are, then. Go on and get changed while I get the thermometer and some paracetamol.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m fine,” he mumbles.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“No, you’re not. You’ve got flu or something,” she says sternly. Part of her is tempted to ask if he needs help with getting his shirt off, but instead she says, “Get changed, and I’ll be right back,” before darting out of the room.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She makes herself busy for what seems like a reasonable amount of time, locating the thermometer and the little bottles of medicine that he’s arranged neatly in the bathroom cupboard; she lingers for as long as she can stand before scurrying back to him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Perhaps she should have stayed to help him with the shirt after all; he’s not bothered with putting his t-shirt on and instead crawled under the blanket. She can only hope he’s too out of it to notice her reddening cheeks as she perches on the edge of the bed and hands him the thermometer. He’s not happy about it, clearly, looking so disgruntled that she can’t help but laugh as he sits up and sticks it under his tongue.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You big baby. I’ll let you rest again soon as I know how high your fever is,” she says, and before she can think better of it, she leans forward to stroke her hand through his ruffled hair.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Jesus Christ, you idiot, what are you doing?</span>
  <em>
    <span> she thinks, </span>
  </em>
  <span>this is the opposite of keeping your distance like you agreed,</span>
  <em>
    <span> but before she can pull away, he leans into her touch, the faintest of smiles melting over his face.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Before meeting him, she’d thought all the stuff about feeling your heart stop or warm or stutter was a crock of shit, but now she feels her own do all three as she moves closer to him, still carefully running her fingers through his hair. It’s pathetic how many nights she’s lain awake thinking about doing this, wondering if he’d let her, if this would somehow fit into their agreement to hold things off for a while-- then again, she can tell his resolve has been weakening, too; perhaps it’s alright after all.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>When he looks positively disappointed to hear the thermometer beep and see her pull back, she knows that it is, in fact, more than alright. “Thirty-nine point two,” she tells him in her best motherly, stern voice. “Back to sleep with you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>For once, he doesn’t argue with her, instead lying back down, his eyes already closing. They fly open again, though, filled with worry as he says, “Anna, this is </span>
  </em>
  <span>your</span>
  <em>
    <span> bed.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Miss?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna jumped in her seat. “Sorry,” she stammered. “Dozed off, or--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s alright,” the flight attendant reassured her. “Chicken or pasta?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pasta, thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He handed her the sad little tray and rolled on. She picked at the salad, tore the roll into tiny pieces, ignored the pasta entirely as she relived over and over and over again all the moments she should have clung more closely to, hating herself for not knowing how precious they were. She can’t stop going over them all in her mind, wondering if they had made the right or wrong choice by waiting so long; perhaps it would have been alright if he had still been a little hung up on Rachel, if she had still not been talking to anyone back home, if they weren’t quite ready yet. Or maybe it would have made it all worse; maybe this goodbye would have hurt more than it did, or maybe they would have grown to resent each other, or--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What would you like to drink?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just water, please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least she had the row to herself, even if it was near the back of the plane. Once they cleared the tray she undid her seatbelt, lowered the armrest, and leaned back against the window. She pulled the thin little blanket up over her knees, tucked her hands into the sleeves of his sweatshirt, closed her eyes, and disappeared into another memory.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>The half a paper cup of tea she had forced herself to choke down did little to help Anna regain any semblance of full consciousness. She shuffled through the customs line, shook her head in response to the officer’s questions, pulled out her phone. She was fumbling with the little SIM card when she looked up suddenly, her eyes wide and heart pounding before she had even made sense of what she had seen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her shoulders sagged when it fell into place; it was just a man, at least ten years older and an inch shorter than Kristoff, but out of the corner of her eye, for just a moment she had thought…</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Never mind</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought as jabbed the card into the side of the phone. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You told him to stay, remember, when you left him and told him it was for good. This isn’t a fucking movie. He’s not here and he never will be.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Baggage claim went agonizingly slowly. She fought the urge to grab her phone out of her purse and text Kristoff already; she wanted to hold onto the knowledge that she’d have an excuse to talk to him for as long as possible. Once she sent it to him, a short little </span>
  <em>
    <span>i made it</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that was it; no more reason, no more right to talk to him. Instead she tapped her fingers on the side of her leg and gnawed on her bottom lip, eyes scanning bag after bag until at last a banged-up purple one with a green tag came through the plastic curtains. She hauled it away, fighting back the sudden intrusion of a memory of Kristoff swinging this same bag into the back of the rental car, when Sven had been with them and there was nothing but anticipation on her mind and--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me,” a woman said curtly as she brushed past.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Head hung low, Anna dragged the bag out into the arrivals, doing her best to avoid the rows of people with hand-painted signs, the mothers hugging their children, the couples sharing tearful reunions, all the people for whom this arrival was a celebration.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anna! Anna, over here!” came a mercifully familiar voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked up with a sigh of relief and began to head towards Jane and her bright smile, dropping the handle of her bag as soon as she drew near so she could pull her friend into a tight hug. “It’s so good to see you,” Anna said, her words muffled in Jane’s sweater.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jane laughed. “You’ve gotten so Scottish over there I can’t understand what you’re saying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kristoff says the same thing,” she said, surprising herself when her voice held steady.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jane, in her infinite female wisdom, didn’t ask about him. She pulled back with a grin, setting her hands on Anna’s shoulders. “God, you look like hell. Did you sleep at all the last couple of days?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Little bit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Want to grab a coffee before we head out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna shook her head. “Nah. Let’s just get it over with.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Jane, saint that she was, kept Anna’s thoughts occupied with more pleasant things during the entire forty-five minute car ride; she skipped the questions about the flight and the airports and how, exactly, Anna planned to uproot her life for the second time in a year. Instead she caught her up on Lara’s tumultuous love life and Abbie’s adventures in finding a journalism job and her own discovery of the highs and lows of pet ownership. “He’s just learned how to shake,” she explained with a broad grin as they turned onto Elsa’s street. “So you’ve got to come over soon. You’ll </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span> him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’d you get your roommate to agree with having a Dalmatian?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have my ways. Mainly by agreeing to do all the dishes from now on ‘til forever,” Jane said with a wink as she put the car in park.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were both quiet for a moment then before she turned to look at Anna. “I’ll go in with you if you want,” she said softly. “I know it’s been a while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna shook her head. “Thank you, but I...I just have to do it on my own.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me get your bag, at least.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All too soon, the bags were unloaded, and Jane had been hugged goodbye, and Anna was alone on the front step of the house Elsa had rented ever since graduating from college. She worried her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment before finally getting up the nerve to ring the bell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She heard footsteps surprisingly quickly; she hardly had time to wonder whether her sister had been waiting for her before the door swung open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment Anna stood stunned. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of her sister with her hair in an unkempt bun and circles under her eyes and her hand on her--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m huge, I know,” Elsa said. “Trust me, it freaks me out sometimes, too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look good, though,” Anna replied hurriedly. “I mean, big, but like, you’re supposed to be, when you’re super pregnant I mean, but you don’t look, like, bad, or-- or anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was another awkward pause, and then Elsa stepped back, holding the door open so Anna could shove her bags in and shuffle over the doorstep. She shifted awkwardly from side to side as her sister shut the door behind her. “What?” Elsa asked as she turned and saw her still standing there. “Do you need me to help with one of your bags?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No, you’re-- Jesus, Els, you couldn’t even bend over and pick one up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” she said drily. “So what is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna hesitated for a moment, wondering if she should even bother when all she was going to get was a literal and metaphorical sidestep, and then she remembered a rainy afternoon when she’d needed help with her dress and been too stubborn to ask at first and how it had all turned out and decided that maybe, just maybe, it was worth the risk of asking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could really use a hug,” she said, sounding so defeated she surprised even herself. “I mean, if that’s possible-- I know you don’t just, you know,</span>
  <em>
    <span> squish</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but maybe--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words died in her throat as Elsa stared back at her, eyes wide. “Sorry I asked,” Anna said, already turning to walk away. “Forget I said--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Elsa said quickly, already reaching for her. “No, I-- come here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was awkward, at first, but after a bit of maneuvering they managed it, holding each other as close as they could. They were quiet then for a long moment, until, with a sigh, Elsa’s fingers curled into the back of Anna’s sweatshirt. “Thank you for coming,” she said quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna’s arms tightened around her in response. “That’s what sisters are for.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span></span><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank you again to gabi and laura and molly and rhianne for all your help with this as i get back into the swing of writing &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. awkward conversations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>so sorry for the delay!!! this chapter went through like 5 different versions before i finally settled on this and then there was so much exposition to write out that it took ages and ahhhhh</p><p>hopefully next update won't take as long</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>This</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Kristoff thought morosely, </span>
  <em>
    <span>is why you used to not fucking bother with people.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He took another swig of wine from the bottle and wrinkled his nose. It was all they-- he-- had left, some shitty Riesling Anna loved and had stocked up on when it’d been two for five a few weeks ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s like drinking grape juice,” she had giggled only last week-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>only last week, Jesus shitting Christ--</span>
  </em>
  <span> as she’d curled beside him on the sofa, tucking her head against his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I wanted grape juice, I’d buy grape juice,” Kristoff had countered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But it’s cheaper than grape juice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, I see. Only the highest quality wine for my girlfriend’s incomparable palate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna giggled, her cheeks already rosy. “I like doing things backwards with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that your way of asking if we can eat ice cream while we wait on the pizza?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...maybe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he’d kissed the tip of her nose, and they’d forgotten the ice cream and nearly forgotten the pizza, too; Kristoff had quickly extricated his hand from the inside of her shirt and stumbled to the door while she tried to smooth her hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was still a couple of pieces of that pizza in the fridge. He could eat it now if he could be bothered with getting up off the sofa. Instead he took another drink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d been expecting to hear from her a couple of hours ago. If he was being honest, he’d been hoping to hear from her way before that, when she’d been messaging back and forth with Oaken. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe she’ll text me, too, while she’s already got her phone out,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he’d thought hopefully. </span>
  <em>
    <span>At least to tell me about the shitty airport food or how much fun she’s having riding on those people mover things.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been foolish of him to think so. Maybe it was stupid to be waiting for a text even now. He knew how quickly she’d left her life behind to come here; it shouldn’t have surprised him that she’d leave in the same way.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re being a jackass</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought bitterly as he set the mostly empty bottle to the side and rubbed at his face. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That was different</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She didn’t love Hans</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But she did love</span>
  <em>
    <span> him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He was going to hear from her again, tonight and then a few more times, the space between growing longer and longer, until the last six months blurred into distant memories, and what they had convinced themselves was love melted away with it, only to be brought back to light at lonely late nights and rainy train rides.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His phone buzzed on the sofa next to him. He fumbled to pick it up, his fingers stumbling like he knew his legs would if he tried to stand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>made it in safe :)</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, why had he had all that wine? It took him twice as long as normal to tap out a reply.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Good im glad was theflhgt okay</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>long, boring</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>im about to fall asleep sounds like you are too</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>talk tomorrow?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>if thats okay i mean</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>i mean you can tell me to fuck off i get it </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>sorry i see you typing i know im rambling </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>jet lag i guess </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>oh phew </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>okay good night kristoff</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Goodnight anan</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Within five minutes, he was sprawled out on the sofa snoring, too worn out to even change out of his jeans.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Anna woke just after four in the morning. Honestly, she was surprised she’d managed to sleep in that long; back in St. Andrews, she’d already be headed to class right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Would have woken up with Kristoff</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought bitterly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>would have made him breakfast while he made me coffee.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>She was itching to text him already. He’d been the last one to send a message, so it was her turn, right? And it was already...nine A.M. there; he’d been up for a while already, and she’d done such a good job of giving him space and not messaging him every five minutes like she’d been tempted to, and anyway if they wanted to stay friends-- which she thought they did, anyway-- she needed to talk to him, and--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her phone lit up with a text.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hey, sorry to bug you. You know that notebook you kept with info on all the donors? Where is it?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>in your desk</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She bit her lip to hold back a smile. She could picture his expression right now; eyebrows furrowed, head tilted to the side, his eyes warm with affection despite the confusion apparent in them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>you keep it so much neater than i do and the notebook is important so it’s in the back of the bottom left drawer</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t want to admit even to herself how nervous she felt as she waited for another response from him. How long could it take to rifle through an immaculately organized desk? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Too suddenly keyed up to stay in bed, she got up and wandered down the hall to the bathroom, her phone gripped tightly in her hand. She winced at her reflection in the mirror; she hadn’t brushed her hair after washing it last night, and now it looked like a nightmare. Her face was still puffy from the flight, and dark shadows still clung beneath her eyes; </span>
  <em>
    <span>maybe it’s for the best Kristoff isn’t here to see you right now</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought wryly as she grabbed the phone again, double-checking to make sure she hadn’t missed it buzzing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually she settled on a corner of the sofa, curling in on herself as she leaned her cheek against the cushion. Still no reply had come. One would come eventually, surely-- wouldn’t it? At least a “thank you” or a “found it” or </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shifted a little, squeezing her eyes shut. She wished fervently-- and selfishly, she knew-- that Elsa would wake up soon so she’d have some other awkward conversation to focus on. Anna had been so exhausted the night before that they hadn’t discussed anything besides how the flight had been and where the spare toothbrushes were. She had come with vague ideas of helping Elsa with the baby and the bakery and whatever else, but now that she was actually here, she found herself uncertain of what help might actually be needed-- or even wanted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The baby, at least, would be easy enough to figure out once it was born; feed it, change it, do whatever else it was you did with a baby. In all honesty, she wasn’t exactly sure how to do even the feeding and changing bits, but there would be a couple more weeks, at least, to figure that part out. And until then-- what did pregnant women need? Help picking things up off the floor and bringing home ice cream? She had a feeling that if she even suggested such things Elsa would throw her out on the streets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighed and cracked her eyes open to check her phone again for what felt like the thousandth time. Still nothing. Still not even five A.M. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wasn’t even sure what she would do when it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> after five A.M. Part of her had thought Elsa might want her to help work at the bakery; then again, maybe not. Her parents, certainly, wouldn’t have wanted it. Even as a child, she’d been relegated to decorating cookies that were never deemed good enough to actually be sold while Elsa was shown how to use the cash register as soon as she’d learned how to count coins. Even when her sister had gone to college and majored in art education, the assumption had always been that it was just a lark, just something fun to study on her full ride to Boston University before she came back home to take Aaron Delle and Sons over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then had come that car crash at midnight during a summer storm a few weeks before Anna was set to go to college herself, and then the funeral she hardly remembered attended mostly by people she’d never met, and then the meeting with the lawyer when he’d explained, exactly, what all of it meant, his eyes sympathetic as he broke the news that they’d left the bakery to Elsa alone, just one last little parting dig.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna hadn’t been watching him as he explained it. Instead her eyes had lingered on her sister, on the shock that shone for only a moment in her eyes before it was replaced with something that looked an awful lot like resignation. Not for the first time, she had wondered if her sister even </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted</span>
  </em>
  <span> all their parents had given her, but somehow she’d never found the courage to ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well-- there was all the time in the world now. She glanced at her phone again-- 4:25. She groaned and closed her eyes again, tucking her knees closer to her chest. Perhaps she ought to go get a book or something out of her bag to pass the time; she still had a few chapters left to read in the history book Kristoff had given her for Christmas. Yes; that’s what she’d do in just a second, after she gave herself just one more moment to sit here on the surprisingly comfortable sofa, just another second to rest her eyes…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door creaking open startled her enough that she nearly jumped out of her skin. “Who’s there?” she mumbled, rubbing at her eyes. “I have a gun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you don’t,” came a coolly amused voice. “Neither do I.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She blinked hard, trying to smooth out her vision. “Elsa? You’re up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I am. It’s half-past nine. Good morning to you, too, by the way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Anna said, feeling rather stupid as she watched her sister kick the door shut and head for the kitchen, her arms laden with plastic grocery bags. “Oh!” she said again, scrambling to her feet. “Let me help you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks. Those bottom shelves are a real pain in the ass for me these days.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No problem,” Anna said. “Just tell me what goes-- oh. You have labels.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mhmm. Did you sleep alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. You?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah. Never do, really, these days, not with my ribs being kicked to hell and back every night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna bit her bottom lip. So much she wanted to know-- but where to even begin? “Um...do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The corner of Elsa’s mouth twitched just barely upwards. “A boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something warmed in Anna’s chest. A boy. Her nephew. Already she adored him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have a name yet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. A few possibilities.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t offer more. Anna nervously drummed her fingers on the table. “And you’re due…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“March 6th. But they said not to be surprised if he’s late.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, it’s your kid,” Anna replied with a wave of her hand. “I’m sure he’ll be perfectly punctual.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elsa snorted at that. They were both quiet for a long moment then. There were so many other questions, ones she wasn’t sure she was allowed to ask; ones she didn’t know if there was an answer to. The gap between them stretched much wider than only the few months since Anna had moved away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was grateful for the groceries giving her a reason to keep her head bowed so Elsa wouldn’t see her reddening cheeks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why </span>
  </em>
  <span>are</span>
  <em>
    <span> you here?</span>
  </em>
  <span> she could imagine her sister saying-- a question she wasn’t sure she could form a good enough answer to. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re my sister</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the easiest; </span>
  <em>
    <span>you scared me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, much harder; </span>
  <em>
    <span>you need me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the one Elsa would hate the most. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anything else you’re wondering?” Elsa asked, trying and failing to keep her tone light. “Come on, I know you. There’s got to be more on your mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna shrugged, busying herself with straightening the boxes in the lower cabinet. “Um. Maybe. I’m kinda jetlagged, though, so I don’t know if I can, you know, come up with good ones off the top of my head, so--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Michael. You want to know where he is. It’s alright. I know you’re not the only one wondering.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even with the boxes straightened out, Anna couldn’t bring herself to look up. “I mean, if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. I know it’s probably a sore subject, and, um, I’m really sorry he’s not around and--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be. It’s fine, really.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Confusion furrowed Anna’s brow; she stole a quick glance up at her sister before returning her gaze to the boxes of spaghetti and oatmeal. “Are you just saying that? Or do you mean it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elsa sighed again. “Will you please at least stand up and look at me while we have this conversation?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Anna stammered, her cheeks reddening yet again. “I, um, it’s-- I--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anna. Stop apologizing. I’m not upset with you. Jesus, what kind of asshole would I have to be to get mad at you for being nervous right after you flew across the Atlantic to come help me out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sor-- um. It’s just...weird,” Anna said. “Not you! Or the baby! Well, okay, that is weird, honestly, still getting used to it. But what I mean is, is that it’s like...it’s weird talking to you again and not fighting. You know? I mean, it’s way better than fighting, obviously, but still...ah, fuck. I’m sor-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To her surprise, a faint smile was curling at the corners of Elsa’s mouth. “I missed you, Anna,” she said softly. “Even before you left, I missed you. I think I’ve missed you since we were kids, really. And it’s good to have you back and see that you’re still you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Heat began to build behind Anna’s eyes. “I missed you, too,” she managed to say. “A lot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad you’re here now. Even if I’m not doing the best job of showing it. And I’m sorry you had to come back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna shook her head. “Don’t be. You’re my sister. I couldn’t let you do this alone.” She bit her lip. “Which, speaking of...I really am curious what happened. If you still wanna talk about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Long version or short version? Fair warning, if you want the long version, I’ve got to go pee first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A small laugh escaped Anna. “Long version, then, so I have time to make some tea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When all was said and done, they found themselves sitting side by side on the sofa; Elsa, to Anna’s delight, had wrapped herself in the plaid blanket she’d sent for Christmas as soon as she’d sat down. “So,” Anna began, taking a sip of her tea, “Michael. Your...double ex?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elsa shook her head. “No, not quite. I mean, there was the first time around when we </span>
  <em>
    <span>were</span>
  </em>
  <span> dating, but this time things were more, ah...casual.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like, casually dating casual, or--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck buddies,” Elsa said drily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!” Anna’s face reddened. She wasn’t used to her normally prim and proper sister being so blunt. “Well-- that’s fine, too. No judgement.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry. I’ve had so many people up in my you-know-what the last few months I think I’ve stopped caring about filters or whatever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, trust me, it’s fine,” Anna said quickly. “Just different. But good different! I swear a lot, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you, now? My, my, how grown up you are,” Elsa teased.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha, ha. So you were fuck buddies, and then…” Anna gestured vaguely at her sister’s stomach. “That happened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elsa’s expression grew more somber. “Yes. We were being stupid. It was...well. I was making a lot of stupid choices at the time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were quiet for a moment, not quite meeting each other’s gaze. If she was counting backwards correctly, Elsa had gotten pregnant around the same time the bakery had hit a low point, and Anna was applying to grad school instead of planning her wedding, and they had both been fighting more often than not. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were both being kinda stupid,” Anna said, her voice small. “So I can’t judge you for that, either. I took some risks, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re sweet to say so. But mine were stupider, trust me. Exhibit A,” Elsa replied, patting the side of her stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you...okay with it? Like...are you happy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Most of the time, yes. It’s scary, obviously. But…” She shrugged. “Well, I guess that’s how things worked out with Michael.” She paused for a moment, as if drawing up the courage to say what she wanted to, and then sighed and went on. “I found out I was already ten weeks pregnant a couple of days before you left.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna could have sworn she felt her heart stop in her chest. “And you didn’t…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You would have stayed,” Elsa said simply. “Not just here, but with Hans.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was right. At least waiting this long to come back meant </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> was well and truly off the table. “Okay. But still, Michael…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He had already moved to California. I called him in the parking lot at the doctor’s office. It was...strange. I think a part of me had known for a while, even though I was denying it to myself, pretending it was just stress. So I just called him and told him. And I told </span>
  <em>
    <span>myself</span>
  </em>
  <span> that if he wanted it, I would keep it, and if he didn’t, then I’d...take care of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And...what did he say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elsa shrugged. “That he didn’t want it. Even if he did, he had used all his savings to move out there, and that since he’d just used a bunch of favors to get transferred, he’d probably lose his job if he came back. So I said okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, obviously you didn’t...take care of it,” Anna said gesturing vaguely, and her sister laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I didn’t. I realized almost as soon as I got home that I was disappointed. Not to be losing Michael-- it really never was serious between us, not even the first time I dated him. But as unexpected as it was, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted</span>
  </em>
  <span> this. I wanted this baby even if it meant doing it alone. So I gave myself a few days to think about it in case it was just a whim or me being sad about you leaving, and then I called Michael and let him know I was keeping it. Told him I expected nothing, that it was fine if he wanted nothing to do with it, but that I’d leave the door open if down the line he changed his mind. He said he didn’t think he would, but to let me know if I needed money, and that was that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna had drawn her knees up as she listened to her sister’s story, and she rested her chin on them now as she gazed, wide-eyed, at Elsa’s surprisingly tranquil expression. “And you...you really don’t regret it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve had my moments,” she admitted. “More often than not I’ve wondered if I’m an idiot. I know you must think I am--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! Well-- a little. For not telling me sooner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elsa shrugged and looked away. “I don’t regret that part. And as glad as I am to have you here...I don’t know. Part of me wishes…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She trailed off, gathering her thoughts, but just as she opened her mouth to speak again, her phone began to buzz on the coffee table. Anna watched as she picked it up, frowning, and accepted the call with a sigh. “Hello...yes, speaking...mhmm...oh. Oh, that’s great! Yes, I’ll be right there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Noticing Anna’s raised eyebrows, she sighed. “Sorry...I took the whole day off to be with you, so I won’t be long, but I just...I really have to go in and deal with this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You literally just got out of the hospital because you were overworking yourself,” Anna pointed out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, but I just-- I have to be there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You</span>
  </em>
  <span> have to be there? You can’t just send someone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, me,” Elsa said, a faint trace of familiar annoyance creeping into her voice. “Just...trust me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just trust you? Because you’ve got to-- got to go ice some cupcakes or redecorate the shelves or something? Because only you can do it the ‘right way?’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elsa’s eyes widened, but a moment later her face was rearranged into a perfect mask of calm composure. “I’m sorry, Anna. I just have to go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knowing she sounded like a petulant child, Anna retorted, “No, you really </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elsa’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, I really </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She threw up her hands. “What could be so important that you’d risk </span>
  <em>
    <span>going back to the hospital</span>
  </em>
  <span> just because you just </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be at work?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elsa stared at her for a long moment, her eyes icy cold, and said, “I’m selling the bakery.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. valentines or a lack thereof</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>OKAY whew this is a big one, and i decided to cover the span of a few weeks from multiple POVs, not just kristoff and anna's, so to make it less confusing just take note of the lil headings at each section!</p><p>thanks as always for reading and being patient with my sporadic update schedule!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>elsa, february 3rd</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Elsa had been nervous enough about the meeting with the buyers, but the real anxiety began to set in as she turned the keys in the ignition and prepared to head back home. She hadn’t even said goodbye to Anna after their argument this morning, just snatched up her purse and coat and stalked right out the door. Not even twenty-four hours into this reunion, and they were already at each other’s throats.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It wasn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> that</span>
  <em>
    <span> bad,</span>
  </em>
  <span> a small voice at the back of her head said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’ve had much worse than that</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And</span>
  </em>
  <span>, a much nastier one replied, </span>
  <em>
    <span>the one that’s coming now that she knows what you’ve done will make them all look like blips on the radar.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She groaned, her fingers tightening around the steering wheel as she stopped at a red light. God, but she’d really made a mess of this whole thing. Here she’d tried to keep it all from Anna to keep from holding her back, from </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurting</span>
  </em>
  <span> her-- but doing so had only made it all a hundred times worse. If she’d only said something in the first place, if she’d told Anna earlier on, if she’d just fucking kept it in her pants--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was startled by a honk behind her; she’d missed the light turning green. On a sudden impulse, she turned right instead of going straight, heading for the one thing that might, by some miracle, keep Anna from hating her quite as much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cashier at the Price Chopper raised an eyebrow when Elsa handed over her card. “Back again already?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Forgot these. Had a massive craving all week and still didn’t grab them. Pregnancy brain, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clearly he didn’t. He looked barely seventeen. His face reddened as he handed her the bag. “Have, uh, have a great day,” he muttered, too embarrassed to make eye contact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A kick landed against her ribs as she tossed the bag into the passenger seat. “Yeah, yeah, ask your aunt if you can have one,” she muttered as she tugged the seatbelt into place. “If she doesn’t throw them in my face first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On paper, she hadn’t done anything wrong. And beyond that, it wasn’t as if she’d ever even considered keeping all the money from the sale for herself; she had thought it was as fucked-up as anyone else did that their parents hadn’t willed half the bakery to Anna in the first place. And those few odd months when it’d actually been profitable, she’d sent Anna half to help pay for college and rent and whatever else, and half was what she was going to give her sister now; couldn’t get much fairer than that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except, of course, for the fact that it wasn’t just some meaningless, empty thing being sold; it was the family legacy, a hundred years of it, and all that went along with it. And, sure, Anna had moved to Scotland, but she’d majored in PR; maybe she’d intended all along to come back someday and turn it all around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now Elsa had taken that chance away from her, just like she’d already taken so much. Some big sister she was. What kind of mother was she going to be if she--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another kick, harder this time, interrupted the spiral of her thoughts. She sighed and patted the side of her stomach after pulling into the driveway and putting the car in park. “You’re right, buddy. I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At her doctor’s suggestion-- well, more insistence, really, once he’d figured out she was doing this alone-- she’d gone to a few therapy sessions here and there, said way more than she’d meant to and been told to be more gentle on herself. And she’d tried, and done okay at times, enough that she’d managed to go five whole minutes on the phone with Anna at Christmas before she’d felt too guilty to keep talking and hung up. But now, after seeing how readily Anna had come to help her, arms </span>
  <em>
    <span>literally</span>
  </em>
  <span> open, and knowing she was just making everything even worse-- god. Maybe she ought to call the shrink again, find out if she had any advice on how to be less massively shitty to the one person in her life that cared enough to stick around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took ten minutes of sitting in the driveway and staring up at the front door before she had finally gotten the courage up to actually go in. Her fingers trembled as she turned the key in the lock, wondering if Anna was even still here, if she--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the--” she found herself saying as the door opened and she caught a glimpse into the living room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, shit,” came a muffled voice from underneath the quilt stretched over the back of the sofa and onto a chair that had been dragged in from the kitchen. “Hang on, I--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The edge of the blanket lifted to reveal Anna, her eyes puffy and red. “Sorry if you hate it, it’s just-- I remembered how much you liked building forts and stuff when we were little, and I felt really bad for being so awful to you, and it’s not done yet because I had to, uh, had to text someone back, and then--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anna--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, I can put it all back, I--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elsa raised the bag, feeling her own eyes begin to well up with tears. “Remember how much you used to like those cookies from the grocery store? The ones with the pink icing? And how much it drove Dad crazy that you liked them more than anything from the bakery?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her sister’s eyes widened. “You didn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did. And I think they’re the perfect blanket fort snack.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna sniffled as she scrambled to her feet. “Here-- you sit down wherever you’re comfy. I didn’t know if, uh, if you’d want to be on the floor or on the sofa, so there’s blankets and pillows on both.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sofa’s great, as long as there’s room for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna nodded quickly. “Sure, if-- if you want me there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I do,” she replied, hoping her sister could hear just how much she meant it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They ended up sitting as close as they could on the couch, Elsa with her feet propped up on the kitchen chair and Anna sitting cross-legged as she popped open the plastic box of cookies with a sigh. “I can’t believe you remembered I liked these.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I did. You always wanted them on your birthday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna looked down at the box, poking at the frosting on a broken cookie instead of picking it up. “I...I’m really sorry about how I was acting this morning. It was really immature of me to snap at you like that. I know you’re dealing with a lot, and I should have--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait,” Elsa interrupted. “I’m the one who’s selling the bakery without telling you, I’m the one who should be apologizing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? It’s yours, you have every right to do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But it’s-- it should have been yours. Both of ours, I mean. And I should have at least </span>
  <em>
    <span>asked</span>
  </em>
  <span> you if you wanted me to do something different, or--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus, Els, if you didn’t want anything to do with it, what makes you think </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> did? I mean, okay, it sucked that they didn’t even give me a chance to try with it, but the older I’ve gotten, the more I’ve realized I wasn’t cut out for it. I don’t think Mom and Dad were either, honestly. I know they told us they sold the old house just because it was too much room for them, but I always kinda thought that was bullshit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite herself, Elsa could feel the corners of her mouth tugging up into a smile. “It was. Dad refusing to update the menu, Mom wanting to keep the old decor...god. I don’t know how I even got someone willing to buy it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you...you already have someone?” Anna asked, picking up a cookie at last and taking a bite.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh-huh,” Elsa replied, taking a cookie of her own. “A developer trying to redo the whole old main street. Grandma would roll over in her grave if she knew we were selling out. But I just...god, I really don’t care. She didn’t even come to our graduations.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna giggled around a mouthful of crumbs. “She had </span>
  <em>
    <span>bingo</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Elsa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, probably in a cave with all the other old bats,” she muttered, and Anna laughed hard enough that she nearly toppled the whole box of cookies onto the floor, which sent Elsa into a fit of giggles at the sight of her sister shrieking and spraying sprinkles everywhere, which only led to both of them laughing so hard they could hardly breathe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they had composed themselves and settled back against the cushions once more, Anna let out a sigh. “It will be kinda weird, though. Just...to say goodbye. Feel like I ought to do </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you know? To...memorialize it, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elsa bit her bottom lip, her hand unconsciously going to settle on the curve of her stomach. “Well...I’m already planning on doing something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well...it’s Aaron Delle and sons, and the son was named Olaf, so…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, god, no. Tell me you’re joking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not. I already ordered some monogrammed blankets.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “Have you ever met a baby named </span>
  <em>
    <span>Aaron? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Or, Christ, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Olaf</span>
  </em>
  <span>? How can you do that to him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, even the grown-up Aarons started out as babies! It’s a perfectly normal name, really-- well, maybe not the Olaf, but--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not calling him that,” Anna said, waving a half-eaten cookie as sternly as she could manage. “I’m giving him a nickname. Like...oh, god, are there even any nicknames for Aaron?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elsa laughed and caught half of the cookie just as it broke from the force of Anna’s gestures. “We’ll figure it out as we go along, just like everything else.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>ryder, february 13th</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Ryder said automatically as he felt his elbow bump into something as he reached for his mug. When no response came, he glanced down and realized he’d just bumped into the new Keurig again and rolled his eyes. Oaken had insisted it would be good for everyone’s morale, but so far Kristoff had totally ignored it, and most of the others still preferred to use good old-fashioned tea bags. Meanwhile Rachel used it so often it filled the office with the smell of watery coffee, and, honestly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>was bringing down everyone </span>
  <em>
    <span>else’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> spirits. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(“Malcolm’s sister-in-law mailed it to us as an early wedding present,” Oaken had admitted to Ryder one night when they’d stayed late to finish sorting an unexpected donation of antique hairpins. “And he </span>
  <em>
    <span>hated</span>
  </em>
  <span> it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So it’s our problem now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Precisely.”)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least Malcolm and the biggest you-know-what in the office were getting something out of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ryder sighed as he flicked the electrical kettle on. He knew good and well that he was being uncharitable. Rachel had, in fact, been on her best behavior since she and Kristoff had come back from that conference. He had a nasty feeling that it might be connected to how quiet Kristoff himself had been since the same weekend-- though, then again, that probably had nothing to do with Rachel and everything to do with Anna being gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The whole office, really, seemed a bit emptier, a bit quieter, without her around, even with enough new hires being brought in that they were all constantly bumping into each other. There were certainly fewer baked goods being brought in; fewer donations, too, despite their valiant efforts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew, compared to Kristoff, he had nothing to complain about; at least it was just a friend he was missing, not a </span>
  <em>
    <span>wife</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But Kristoff hadn’t been complaining at all. He’d been quiet, too, even more than he usually was. He hardly even smiled anymore, not even when Ryder asked him questions about Scottish military history he was pretending not to already know the answer to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a rotten situation, honestly; based on what he understood of it, probably nobody was happy about it, not even Anna’s pregnant sister, if she hadn’t asked for help until now. Just one of those things you had to do for family, even if it meant putting your own life on hold. He couldn’t help but wonder...it wasn’t quite the same, but…no harm in asking, right? Glancing around to make sure Oaken was nowhere near, he pulled out his phone and tapped out a quick text.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>maren if i was in an accident or got in trouble or something would you come help me</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The reply from his sister came surprisingly quickly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dude what the fuck did you do this time.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>nothing! It’s theoretical </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It doesn’t sound theoretical. Remember when you tried rock climbing?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Okay THIS TIME it is. would you come? if it was like long term</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We would figure something out. London’s not that far. And, honestly, there’s too many photographers here anyway. Maybe you should get in an accident so I can come up there and find a real job instead of doing shit freelance jobs.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Haha very funny. Well i would do the same for you. Just fyi.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sure this is theoretical? Did something happen?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>yes and yes but don’t worry not to me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Okay. I g2g now to take some preschool dance recital photos. But call later if u need to talk.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ryder caught a glimpse of the date as he closed the message and felt a pang of sympathy go through his chest. He tapped at the edge of his phone for a minute before making up his mind and crossing to Kristoff’s desk, leaving his tea on the counter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You busy tonight?” he asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A huff of weak laughter escaped the other man, who didn’t bother to look up from his screen. “Do you even have to ask?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ryder shifted awkwardly, wishing he had brought the tea over after all so he’d have something to do with his hands. “Just...checking. Anyway, it’s Tuesday. Half-price pints at Aikmen’s. Want to go with me? Could use a night off from writing this annotated bibliography.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence stretched on long enough that he was beginning to consider walking away when at last Kristoff looked up at him with a faint smile. “Sure. Sounds great.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>jane, february 17th</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, come on, it’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> bad,” Abbie teased. “At least it’s not Jayden with two Y’s or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or Braxton, or Leighton, or Somethingelseton,” Jane interjected. “Or another Noah or something-- god, everyone I know names their kid Noah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lara scoffed at that. “You’re both insane. I’m on Anna’s side here. Who names a kid </span>
  <em>
    <span>Olaf</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s his </span>
  <em>
    <span>middle</span>
  </em>
  <span> name,” Abbie pointed out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they squabbled lightheartedly over Elsa’s choice of baby name, Jane found her eyes drifting towards Anna herself, who was uncharacteristically quiet as she carefully frosted blue and white cookies at the kitchen counter. She drifted over to her until she was close enough to nudge her elbow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Careful. Nearly made me write ‘doy’ instead of ‘boy’,” Anna said, aiming for levity and missing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everything okay?” Jane asked quietly, watching out of the corner of her eye as the other girls just “happened” to wander into another room. They loved Anna, too, but Jane had been her roommate for three years; there were some things only a very-best-friend could pull out of a person.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mhmm. Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve barely said a word all night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna sighed and turned to refill the pastry bag with more icing. “I’m sorry. I’m just stressed, I guess, putting on this baby shower so last minute and trying to get in to sub with the school district and--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not buying it,” Jane interrupted. “There’s something else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you guys again, by the way,” Anna said, plowing ahead as if she hadn’t heard a thing. “It means so much to me, and to Elsa, too. You guys are the closest thing we’ve got to family anymore. The people at the bakery, sure, they’ll </span>
  <em>
    <span>come</span>
  </em>
  <span> to the shower, but they never would’ve planned this, and god knows that alone I’d--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Anna</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She bit her lip and twisted the end of the bag a little tighter than necessary. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you fight with your sister?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it money? We can spot you if--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, no.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jane drew in a deep breath. “So it’s Kristoff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna’s eyes hardened as she returned her full focus to the cookies. “I don’t want to talk about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you guys--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Anna snapped. “For one night, can’t I just-- can I-- oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jane pulled her into a tight hug just as the other woman burst into tears. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make it worse. I just-- I’m worried about you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Anna sniffled. “I know, it’s just-- it’s just I was hoping we were going to be friends, and I thought we really were going to, but every time I talk to him, I just feel so </span>
  <em>
    <span>guilty</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and then it’s so awkward because I don’t know what to </span>
  <em>
    <span>say,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and-- and now I haven’t heard from him in a couple days, and I think it’s because he texted and said ‘hey’ on Valentine’s, and I didn’t see at first so it took me </span>
  <em>
    <span>hours </span>
  </em>
  <span>to reply, and it’s been weird ever since then, and I-- and I </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span> him. I love him so much, but I’m the one who broke up with him, so I-- I don’t even have a </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span> to anymore, you know? I don’t even have a right to talk to him at all, so I...fuck, I don’t know why I’m even crying about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was silent as Anna rambled, only nodding and rubbing gentle circles on her friend’s back. When at last her words faded into faint sniffles, Jane said softly, “It’s okay to still love him. It’s not like you can just turn it off like a switch or something. Especially when you didn’t want to break up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But is it...is it okay to still talk to him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If he wants to talk to you, too, then I think it is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know if it’s making it worse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know, either. But if it makes you sad...I don’t know. Maybe he’s sad, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which is my fault,” Anna hiccuped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jane pulled back enough that she could grab a paper towel and offer it to her to use as a tissue. “Look...shit happens. Okay? You’re not a bad person. I mean, you only broke up with him to focus on helping your sister. I think that means you’re a pretty good person.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna managed a weak nod as she dabbed at her nose. “And remember that you can talk to her, too,” Jane added.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not about...this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jane sighed. “You still haven’t told her you guys were together?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna shook her head. “She feels guilty enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus. This whole situation is pretty fucked, isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Abbie said, startling them enough that they both jumped. “I’d have to say I agree. But at least we get a cute kid out of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Even if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> named Aaron Olaf,” Lara added. “Hope we aren’t, uh, interrupting. We can go pretend to be looking for something in our cars again if you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna let out a laugh, the first real one Jane had heard from her all night. “Come here, you dorks,” she said, holding out an arm for a group hug that the other two gladly accepted.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She okay?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Abbie mouthed over the top of Lara’s head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jane shook her head </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>, just barely, and mouthed back, </span>
  <em>
    <span>But she will be</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>rachel, february 25th</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was pathetic, really, how much Kristoff was still getting under her skin. Every time she caught a glimpse of him, she was reminded of how much she’d done for him, how </span>
  <em>
    <span>ungrateful</span>
  </em>
  <span> he was. Without her, he’d probably be back home in-- where was it? Virginia?-- teaching middle school history and getting Applebee’s every Tuesday with that one guy who had such a stick up his ass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But here he was, at his fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>dream job</span>
  </em>
  <span>, in </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> country, somehow capable of finding a woman actually willing to </span>
  <em>
    <span>marry</span>
  </em>
  <span> him, because of three years of hard work. And what did she have to show for it? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span>, except that one pair of earrings he’d bought her that weren’t godawful. And she’d worn them every day for a week, and he hadn’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>noticed.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Part of her knew good and well that she was being, to put it bluntly, a bitch. But she didn’t care. She had worked her ass off for everything she had in life, and still it felt like whatever it was she </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> wanted eluded her. She couldn’t even put a name to it, couldn’t figure out what it was she was missing; she’d made a list way back when she’d been getting ready to apply to college and methodically checked it all off ever since. Lose enough weight that her mum stopped edging her to the back of family photos-- check. Get a degree at a school good enough her grandfather would pay for it-- check, though graduate school had been a close call; it still rankled to see her cousins wearing their Cambridge sweatshirts at Christmas. Have a year’s salary in savings, buy a car that wasn’t a piece of shit, find a </span>
  <em>
    <span>career</span>
  </em>
  <span> and not just a job; check, check, check. All of it done by the time she was twenty-six, and still, somehow, it wasn’t enough for her. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>At least Anna’s out of here now</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought smugly as she passed the still-empty desk on her way to make a cup of coffee. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No more rubbing it in my face how perfect she thinks she is</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The nerve of her, really, to act as if she was running this whole museum just because a few horny old men sent in extra donations after she simpered at them. And to fawn all over Kristoff, in </span>
  <em>
    <span>public</span>
  </em>
  <span>-- god. It was just inconsiderate, really, how she acted. It was like she didn’t realize she was just </span>
  <em>
    <span>lucky</span>
  </em>
  <span> to end up working here, just like she was lucky running into Kristoff when he was on the rebound. She’d done </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span> to earn the life she’d got, and still she insisted on walking around here like the fucking queen. it gave Rachel no small degree of satisfaction to see all of it get yanked right away from her. Judging by how pathetic Kristoff had been acting lately, even if that marriage </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> somehow real and not some stupid visa scam, it wasn’t about to be for much longer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t come in yet that morning, had been out doing some sort of idiotic in-person fundraising shit that Anna had got him started on. A waste of time, honestly; these old fuckers would die and will their money to the museum in a couple of years anyway, so why not focus on getting the funds they needed right now some other way? </span>
</p><p><span>But Rachel had encouraged him to do it anyway when he’d started it up a few weeks ago, had </span><em><span>very</span></em><span> kindly offered to go with him if he wanted, and he’d turned her down. The absolute nerve</span> <span>of </span><em><span>him</span></em><span>, too; she was starting to think she wouldn’t take him back no matter how hard he begged. He was going to realize sooner or later how much he owed to her, how much he </span><em><span>needed</span></em><span> her, and then it’d be all </span><em><span>I’m sorry, you were right, I needed more time to get my shit together, and I can’t do it without you. It was stupid of me to propose when I did and ruin everything. Want to go for sushi and talk it over?</span></em></p><p>
  <span>She knew him better than anyone else. Better than he himself did, certainly better than </span>
  <em>
    <span>Anna</span>
  </em>
  <span> thought she did. Codependent, that was the word for him; needed someone to tell him what to do and where and when, else he’d spend his whole life at home alone staring at a book until he went blind. Too shy to ever do anything he ought to without a little prodding. And too awkward to even ask for help; it was a miracle, really, he’d run into her at that party the night they’d met. No one else would have wasted their time helping him, would have even known </span>
  <em>
    <span>how</span>
  </em>
  <span> to. Empathetic, now that was the word for </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>; always knowing exactly what was going on in someone’s head and how they ought to be handled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rachel glanced down and realized she’d been standing in front of the finished cup of coffee long enough that it had stopped steaming. Her shoulders sagged a little; she was beginning to think something was wrong with her. She’d heard about it a bit on some talk show, how overthinking might be a sign of some unresolved issue. It was worse now than it’d ever been before; the days were so short here, the winter so cold, and the town was so small she felt completely and utterly trapped. There were no distractions from her own mind, from her own failings she tried so hard to compensate for, nothing except this fucking museum that she’d thrown her heart and soul into, and for what? Everyone seemed to be doing twice as well as her with half the effort. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well-- almost everyone. Even now, as she idly stirred her coffee and turned around to face the rest of the office, she could see poor, sweet little Tess on the phone looking thoroughly perplexed. They’d gotten off on the wrong foot, sure, but Tess had grown on her; now that Anna was gone, it was always Rachel she came to for help, and the other new girls had followed her lead. Hardly an hour went by without someone asking for help with some ridiculously easy task, and every time, Rachel stepped in to save the day and was rewarded with a relieved smile and an “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She’d even gone for brunch with all of them last week and graciously covered the first round of mimosas despite their protests. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Let’s see Anna do that on a part-time salary</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought, hiding her smirk as she floated over to Tess’s desk just as the other woman hung up the phone with a sigh. “What’s wrong, love?” she asked in her sweetest voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, hey, Rach,” she said with a sigh. “Just...I just got done with the weirdest call from the immigration office, reminding me there’s some form we’ve got to fill out for Kristoff. And I said I’d done it a couple of weeks ago, and they said it was the wrong one for his type of visa, so I asked which one he had, and...well…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rachel simpered and leaned in closer, looking at what Tess had pulled up on the screen. “Let me have a look at it. I’m sure I can help.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>kristoff, february 25th</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was strange, he reflected idly as he brushed his teeth, the habits he’d picked up and the ones that had slipped away. He’d started going to bed earlier so the hours didn’t seem to stretch on so long, but that meant he woke up earlier, too, a full hour before his alarm went off no matter how hard he tried to stay asleep. So he’d started running in the mornings. He’d pull on his sweats and his sneakers and go until he was numb inside and out, not bothering to measure distance or speed, and then he’d come back in and shower at the same time he’d used to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he never did seem to get around to shaving most days. He rubbed absentmindedly at the stubble prickling his chin. Anna would probably hate it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> He wasn’t sure if it was supposed to get better or worse with time; even with Rachel the breakup had just been, well, a breakup. A couple of nights drinking and listening to sad music, and the heartbreak faded. And that had been two </span>
  <em>
    <span>years</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and this had been only a week and a half, at least by official standards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>And there was Anna to distract you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thought morosely. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You met her the day after you caught Rach with Jeremy, remember? No fucking wonder you got over her so fast.</span>
  </em>
  <span>)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time around, it felt somehow like an entire piece of the fabric of his life had been torn unceremoniously away. Now home was quiet, and work was quiet, and the weekends were quiet, and it was eating away at him, worse and worse with every passing minute. He had, at least, gone to the pub with Ryder twice now; that had to count for something, didn’t it? Had to be a sign he was on the way to getting over it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had a glass of water and a bowl of microwaved oatmeal before shrugging on his coat and heading for the door. Anna had made it a weekly tradition to help Mrs. MacLaren with her shopping every Thursday morning, and Oaken had gladly given Kristoff the time off to do it in her stead. He’d been nervous asking at first, especially since he knew Anna’s leaving and her spot staying open just in case had already strained things, but Oaken had only laughed and said, “Museum wouldn’t exist at all without her donations, certainly wouldn’t be opening anytime soon if she pulled back out. Keep her happy and you keep us all paid, lad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t even have to knock this morning before the door swung open. “Kristoff!” Mrs. MacLaren said happily as she pulled on her gloves. “You’ll never guess who I talked to last night!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who?” he asked, holding the door open for her before offering his arm to help her down the steps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your wife! I had asked for her address so I could send a few things for the baby, you know, and we got to chatting for nearly half an hour while I had my tea!”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How is she?</span>
  </em>
  <span> he desperately wanted to ask; it had been four long, empty days since he’d last heard from her himself. He’d taken to leaving his phone ringer on all night long on the off chance she might call him; more than once he’d jolted awake in the night and turned over to grab it, only to see the screen was as empty as ever. He’d typed out and deleted a dozen messages by now, ranging from offhand to silly to desperate, none of them even coming close to what he really wanted to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He forced himself to smile as they made their way towards the high street. “Oh, yeah, she mentioned that to me. She misses you terribly, you know. Very jealous I’m the one who gets to take you shopping now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You charmer, you,” she said, swatting at his arm, and he laughed before lapsing into silence, his thoughts turning once more to what he should have done differently to keep his life from fading into...whatever this was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For starters, he should have told Anna they could do long distance, or at least </span>
  <em>
    <span>try</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She was apt to jump into things without thinking them through-- god, he knew that better than anyone, after she’d agreed so readily to pretend to be his wife. He could have stopped her from breaking it off-- but then, of course, following that line of logic, that would mean saying she loved him was </span>
  <em>
    <span>also</span>
  </em>
  <span> just an impulse, and the fact that she’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted</span>
  </em>
  <span> to say it, at least, sometimes felt like the only reason he hadn’t gone stark raving mad, so perhaps he didn’t want any of that to be the case after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Part of him couldn’t help but wonder if it would have been better after all to let her say it. Then he could have said it back, could have freed the words that had once felt so warm in his chest and now burned, hot and bitter as bile. They nearly escaped every time he texted her, even when it was just about work; each </span>
  <em>
    <span>check the top drawer </span>
  </em>
  <span>or </span>
  <em>
    <span>did i remember to call him</span>
  </em>
  <span> or </span>
  <em>
    <span>yw have a good day </span>
  </em>
  <span>came dangerously close to being answered with an </span>
  <em>
    <span>I love you, Anna</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, then again, perhaps he ought to be grateful he wasn’t hearing from her regularly anymore after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blinked in surprise as the automated doors at the front of Tesco opened. The walk was short, but today it had seemed to go by even more quickly than normal. Mrs. MacLaren, thankfully, didn’t seem to notice his distraction; she was too busy fumbling in her purse for her shopping list. “Ah, there we are,” she said happily. “Be a dear and push the cart for me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He did so, like he did every week, as she bought the same items she bought every week, humming along to the music on the radio as they made their slow way through the aisles. He knew without asking to reach for the box of PG Tips on the top shelf when he saw it was on sale and wondered idly how they’d managed to get it when it’d been Anna helping with the shopping.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kristoff, dear,” Mrs. MacLaren said suddenly as they shuffled forward in the checkout line, “do you know how long it’s been since I popped by the museum to see how things are going?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s been a while, I guess. Have you been since that party in December?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, I don’t think I have. Would you mind terribly if I came in with you after we put up the shopping? I can see myself home after.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course. We’d be happy to have you. And don’t worry, I bet Dr. Oaken would be happy to drive you so you don’t even have to worry about walking at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How lovely,” she beamed. “Everything on track still for the opening?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, still aiming for that first week in June.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She kept grilling him with questions about the exhibits and the budget and all the new hires as they finished checking out and made their way to the house and put all of her groceries away; she paused only to exclaim, “And to think Anna told me once you weren’t handy!” when he changed a lightbulb in the bathroom for her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was only when they reached the museum itself that she grew silent once more; he glanced down and saw she was smiling so broadly he could hardly see her bright green eyes. “Lot’s changed since you were last here, hasn’t it?” he asked with a smile of his own. “Full parking lot, got the floors finished and the walls painted and everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As always, he held the door open for her; he was just taking her coat when a familiar voice called out sweetly, “Oh, Kris! We were just wondering where you were.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Rachel,” he said, not bothering to look up from the coat rack. “What do you need?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it’s the funniest thing,” she purred.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was something...different in her voice. Something that made him nervous enough that he did turn then, only to see the entire office’s eyes on him. Tess’s face had gone bright red; Oaken’s eyebrows were pulled together in a deep frown; and Ryder looked more confused than Kristoff had ever seen him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is?” he managed to ask, glancing down to see Mrs. MacLaren stiffen beside him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Rachel replied, tapping thoughtfully at her chin as she took slow steps towards him, “we got a call about your work visa this morning. About how the wrong papers got sent in about renewing it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh-huh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you know what they told us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t say anything at all as she leaned against the desk that had once been Anna’s, wearing a wicked smile. “They said they had absolutely no record of you applying for a marriage visa...or for you ever being married at all.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>massive thanks to molly, gabi, rhianne, and johanna for helping me get through this behemoth</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. coda</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>mmkay i'm telling you guys up front that this chapter does not tell you what's going to happen to rachel or the museum or anything, and KA is only in there at the end</p><p>basically i felt like, to make sure you understand some of what's happened before and what's going to happen as the fic progresses, you needed to have some more backstory on mrs. maclaren, and i felt like just having her say a couple throwaway lines of exposition wouldn't express it the way i wanted to </p><p>so! here is a chapter of all that. if you are like "bro i literally could not care less. what happens to rachel" then you are welcome to skip this one, and the bits you will really need to know will still be in there in the throwaway lines of exposition next chapter. but if you want to read about why mrs maclaren has all that money and why she likes kristoff and anna and why she insisted on them being married if they were going to rent the house...read on</p><p>oh and ps in case it isn’t clear enough: the bits where she’s sent up to st. andrews is because in WWII scotland was bombed pretty heavily, so as in the rest of britain, kids in big cities were sent to more rural areas. idk if st andrew’s was quite rural enough to count but we’ll just say the manor is on the outskirts of town LOL</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>How strange it is</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she often thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>that even with my glasses I have to squint, but that I can picture the first time I met Harry as if it happened yesterday.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She was grateful for it, immensely so, that neither of them had ever had to deal with losing their memory, like had happened to so many others they had known. No; until the day he died, Henry Callum MacLaren IV had known exactly who he was, and who </span>
  <em>
    <span>she</span>
  </em>
  <span> was, and exactly what he wanted her to do after he was gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The solicitor handling his affairs afterward had been terribly sweet, offering her a cup of tea and her condolences even before they’d sat down for the meeting. “I know it must be very difficult for you, Mrs. MacLaren,” she’d said earnestly, her eyes full of genuine sympathy. “I mean, nearly seventy years together-- my goodness, I can hardly imagine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, please, dear, call me Ruth,” she had replied magnanimously. “And it’s quite alright, really. We’d known it was coming for quite a while. And he was getting awfully old, you know. ‘Good riddance,’ I told him there near the end, and he just laughed and said, ‘Quite right.’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The solicitor hadn’t quite known what to say to that, and so she had instead cleared her throat and launched right into reading over the will. Ruth had paid polite attention, nodding at all the important bits, pretending she hadn’t memorized it ages ago, hadn’t been the one to sit down and write it with him when he’d first gotten the diagnosis. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That had been the one day she’d allowed herself to cry in front of him over it. She knew how he hated when she did-- not like how other men did, the ones who got all annoyed about women being emotional and silly; he had never been like that. He just couldn’t bear the thought of anything hurting her, no matter how small, and would do just about anything to make her smile again. “Come on, Ruthie,” he’d cajoled her, already more concerned about her than himself not even five minutes after finding out about how far the cancer had spread. “It’ll be alright. Think how much time you’ll save doing laundry now. And no more silly old fool to interrupt you watching your shows because he’s gone and lost his eyeglasses on the top of his head again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had been like that even as a boy, always saying ridiculous things to make her smile. He’d been the one to meet them at the train station, twelve years old and already as self-assured as a grown man. He’d raised his eyebrows at the sight of Alice, wearing her gas mask because there was no room left in her shabby little suitcase, and said, “Christ, is the air really </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>bad in Edinburgh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was the first time Ruth had heard her little sister laugh in weeks, and she knew right then and there that she was going to spend the rest of her life adoring this boy with overgrown ears and knobby knees and a shock of unkempt ginger hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(“Oh, I already loved you even before that,” he had claimed years later when she had admitted to him just how long she’d cared for him. “I saw you had a copy of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Treasure Island </span>
  </em>
  <span>in your hand, and that was my favorite book. I took it as a sign from God.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a rotten liar. It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Through the Looking-Glass.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you going to do about it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eat the rest of the biscuits.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or-- just a suggestion, here-- you could just kiss me and shut me up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Who was she to argue with that?)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’d been called Gracebourne back then, the house he had grown up in; not quite big enough to be honestly called a manor, but it had felt like a palace to her then after having lived all of her ten-year-old life in a third-floor flat in the center of the city. Other children came and went as the war raged on, but she and Alice stayed all the way until it was all nearly over. Four Christmases, four birthdays, four sprawling summers spent there wandering the grounds and getting into all sorts of mischief with Harry all the while. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t always silliness, though; they had the drills like everyone else, and every night was spent anxiously by the radio, waiting for news of his brother and her father. But they were easier with him, when he whispered jokes to Alice to keep her from crying when she was still young enough to be scared of the dark, or when he read aloud from one of his adventure books to set their minds at ease after bad news came.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the day the worst news came, when they brought the telegram to his mother at the front door-- that day Ruth at last had been able to repay him. He was fifteen by then, and had at last grown into his ears; he was a head and a half taller than her and twice as broad, and when at last she had found him he had been weeping by the edge of the creek, where they had spent so many happier afternoons.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ruth found herself at a loss for words; had always been the one who knew what to say. But she sat beside him, let him lean against her shoulder and cling to her hand until long after the sun had set. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not quite a year later, she and Alice had gotten a telegram of their own, though it bore much happier news. Victory was, at last, on the horizon; their father had been sent home, and their mother, too, from where she’d been working as a medic in France, and there was no longer any real threat to Edinburgh-- and so it was time to say goodbye to St. Andrews, and to Gracebourne, and to Harry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He insisted on seeing them off. “I’m the one who brought you here,” he had said, his eyes unusually solemn, “so it’s only right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neither of them had spoken the whole way to the train station. Instead they had hung back in silence while Alice skipped ahead, singing some little song she’d learned at school. She was only eight; she had spent half of her life away from home, and still she was overjoyed to see it again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ruth couldn’t bring herself to say the same. She dragged her heels right up until they got to the platform, unsure of why she so hated the prospect of saying goodbye, and a little afraid of finding out the answer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll write, won’t you?” Harry asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded, his eyes sparkling, and for a moment she caught a glimpse of the boy he had once been instead of the man he had slowly become. “Good. Don’t know what those schools in Edinburgh are like, wouldn’t want you forgetting all your spelling lessons.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The train whistle blew, and the conductor called for any last boarders, and Alice was already onboard, and still she had to fight to make herself turn away. On a sudden impulse, she turned back and rose up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “I’ll visit,” she promised breathlessly. “Whenever I can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’d better,” he said, doing his best to sound stern. “Or else I’ll-- I’ll-- well, I’ll think of something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ran after the train for as long as he could, laughing all the way at the sight of her hanging out of the window and waving madly, until at last the tracks turned around a bend and the station slipped from view. And that was the last she saw of Henry Callum MacLaren IV for four long years, though they wrote so often that even the postman started teasing her about how she was paying half his salary with all the stamps she bought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then one day in 1949-- goodness, there were newer artifacts than that in the museum-- she packed her valise with just enough clothes for the weekend and boarded the train to St. Andrews once more, this time by herself. She had meant for it to be a surprise for his twentieth birthday, but to her great delight, when the train pulled into the station, there he was, grinning just as broadly as she’d remembered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did you know?” she called as she flew down the stairs and flung herself towards him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you, Ruthie,” he said, his eyes shining. “I had a feeling you might finally make good on your promise today. Well-- that, and your sister wrote me a week ago and told you I ought to stock up on your favorite kind of tea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughed. “I think I’ve got enough Irish Breakfast to last you a lifetime.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then at last he had kissed her like she’d wanted him to for so long, and by Wednesday her sister had come with another trunk full of her things, and on Friday they were married, and though it wasn’t quite enough tea to last a lifetime, she spent that long by his side anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And what a full life it had been, though none of it had gone quite the way they’d planned back and forth in their letters over the years. She hadn’t taken a job at first, expecting to be staying at home with a little one within a year, but as the time stretched on, at last she’d gone to secretarial school and begun working at the same school where Harry taught history and maths. Of course neither of them </span>
  <em>
    <span>needed</span>
  </em>
  <span> a job, not when he was the sole heir to the MacLaren fortune, but neither of them had ever been the sort to be content with sitting at home lazing their lives away. And so that money was kept away in various accounts to collect dust and interest, and instead they lived on their salaries, content as anyone could ever hope to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was-- what, 1972? 73? Ted Heath had still been PM, in any case-- when Harry turned to her one day as he helped her frost cupcakes for a bake sale and said, “You know, this is an awful lot of house for just two people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm. It is, isn’t it?” she replied. “Budge up, darling, would you? I need that spoon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stepped aside and snuck a kiss on her cheek as she leaned over to grab the errant utensil. “And the </span>
  <em>
    <span>dusting</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It takes up half our Sunday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quite right. And there was that bit in the paper about trying to raise funds to expand the orphanage.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly!” he said, flicking the whisk in his hand for emphasis and sending a glob of frosting onto his forehead. “Which is silly, really, if there’s already a place for them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I couldn’t agree more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neither of them regretted donating the house for a minute, not when it meant seeing the halls of Gracebourne overflowing once more with tiny footsteps and peals of  laughter, as it had been when they were young. And the new cottage they found by the park was the perfect size for the pair of them; it felt, somehow, like home, even their very first night in it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And time, as it does, wore on; Harry retired well before she did and spent his days volunteering in whatever capacity was needed at the orphanage, whether that meant playing hide-and-seek or fixing a leaky toilet or organizing shelves of toys. His hair faded eventually into a soft strawberry blond, though it stayed as thick as ever; she had to get reading glasses so thick he teased her about them as if they were children again, but they both felt more young than not until the day Harry fell down the stairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just a broken leg, Ruthie my love,” he reassured her as she sat beside him in the hospital. “Plenty of people get on without a leg at all!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But for him, getting on with both of them proved to be more of a chore than he had initially expected, and so just after the turn of the century they bid farewell to the cottage, too, in favor of a little one-story nearer to the high street, though neither of them could quite bear to sell it. Instead they rented it out to students or young professionals or whoever passed through, indiscriminately at first, until the couple who had broken up in an awful fight broke their lease after only a month and left so many stains of uncertain source that they had to replace all the carpet. And that was only after the couple who had fought over who would keep their antique wine collection and had settled it by shattering half the bottles against the wall, and the one who-- well. She wasn’t sure how they managed it, but the way they broke the bed certainly had nothing to do with either of its usual purposes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, Harry,” Ruth said conspiratorially, “we’re awfully old now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha! Speak for yourself!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“--and I think perhaps we’re allowed to be a bit cranky with the people who apply to live here now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think you have a cranky bone in your body, my darling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was right. And so they pondered it together for a while, until they struck upon a brilliant solution and spent an afternoon giggling side by side as they sorted through bins at an antique shop. “I don’t think I’ve been to church since we got married,” Harry chuckled as he handed over a five-pound note in exchange for the ugliest crucifix either of them had ever seen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, we’re old. No one will question it, especially not with </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> on the wall.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So that was their little inside joke, convincing all the students looking for a cheap place to stay that they were two crotchety old folks who would never dream of renting to godless heathens, and the money they made from renting out the cottage was enough until the doctors’ bills began to pile up, and then, and only then, did they actually take a serious look at the money Harry had put away decades ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Twenty mill--</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shh!” he said, clapping a hand over her mouth. “Don’t say it out loud. It’s crass.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harry--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well-- I suppose we ought to figure out what to do with it all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Setting aside enough for her to live on for however many years she had left after him-- god, how it pained her to think of that word, </span>
  <em>
    <span>after</span>
  </em>
  <span>-- hardly made a dent in it. And so they set aside more for Alice’s children and grandchildren, and then for the orphanage, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>still</span>
  </em>
  <span> there had been so much left they had worried over it for weeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, the same day the doctor called and told them there was nothing left to do but wait, Harry spent the afternoon sitting by the window, looking out at the streets of the city he had lived and loved for all of his life. Ruth joined him, handing him a cup of tea made just the way he liked, no milk and three sugars.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know,” he said eventually, “this town has changed an awful lot while we’ve lived in it. And a lot before that, too. I reckon that soon everyone will forget who the MacLarens were, and what Gracebourne used to be, and-- and everything about everyone else, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t quite know what to say to that. She settled instead for taking his hand in her own, trying to ignore how much smaller it felt these days.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe,” he said, his voice soft, “maybe we ought to do something about it. People ought to know the story of the place they live.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d called the university the next morning, inquired if there might be anyone interested in opening an exhibit of some sort, and then they’d met dear Jamie, and one thing led to another, and a week to the day before he died, Harry signed the new version of his will that left several million pounds for the opening of a museum dedicated to the history of St. Andrews.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now that was the last thing she had to take care of before she joined him beneath the stone that already carried both of their names-- or so she had thought. She had resigned herself to one or two more lonely years, just waiting to die, until the day she opened the door to greet a new set of prospective renters. She had blinked in surprise at the sight of them, and then felt her eyes well up with tears; of course the hair was different, but if she squinted, they almost looked like--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d collected herself while they poked around the upstairs, enough that she was able to play the old joke one last time as they signed the papers, and she’d almost been disappointed when they told her they were married after all; a part of her had wanted to finally let someone in on the punchline. And she’d thought, at first, that that would be the last she’d see of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But oh, how wonderfully wrong she had been. Each time she saw them at the museum, they were always so glad to see her; and then when they began to make their little fundraising expeditions around the city, they always stopped by. And then Anna, seeing her struggle to carry in her shopping bags one afternoon, had begun to come by every Thursday morning to help her with it and talk to her a while, and to hear the way she talked about Kristoff-- well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you were worried about me, Harry,” she said one cold Sunday in November when she stopped by to say hello. “That I wouldn’t have anyone to take care of me after you were gone. But it’s going to be alright now, I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had never been one for sentimentality, and so she couldn’t bring herself to say it aloud, but she thought it all the same: </span>
  <em>
    <span>and if you had anything to do with sending them to me-- thank you, my darling</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff had explained to her what happened the first Thursday when he came in Anna’s stead, that she was just helping her sister, that she’d be back soon. But Ruth knew that look in his eye, that slump of his shoulders, and so she made up extra little tasks to keep him around a while longer, just to keep an eye on him, make sure he didn’t feel quite so alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The special trip to the museum, though-- that really </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> something she wanted to see. Even before stepping inside, she was bursting with questions; what new exhibits had been built, who had been brought on to help, whether they’d set a final date for the gala. It had been a cold, lonely winter, and the museum opening at last felt like the bright light at the end of the tunnel, the hope that spring might finally arrive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lot’s changed since you were last here, hasn’t it?” Kristoff asked, smiling. “Full parking lot, got the floors finished and the walls painted and everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was still sorting through her questions, deciding which would come first, when that other curator-- what was her name, Rhonda or something?-- stepped forward and said, “Oh, Kris! We were just wondering where you were.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Rachel. What do you need?” he asked as he helped Ruth with her coat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it’s the funniest thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, we got a call about your work visa this morning. About how the wrong papers got sent in about renewing it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh-huh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you know what they told us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the look on his face, he did, but he didn’t want to hear it, anyway. Ruth felt a sudden sickening, dizzy feeling in her stomach; she had a feeling she didn’t want to hear either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They said they had absolutely no record of you applying for a marriage visa...or for you ever being married at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nobody spoke at all for a long, awkward moment. That terrible, nauseous feeling was only growing worse; she was too old to feel upset about something as silly as this, just a strange lie that it was her own fault for being told, but still-- but still. She felt-- betrayed, somehow; was that the right word? She didn’t think she had a right to feel that way at all, but-- well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think,” she said, her voice coming out a little too thin, “I ought to come back for a visit on another day. Dr. Oaken, if you’re not terribly busy, would you mind--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, Ruth,” he said brusquely, already heading towards the door. “I’ll drop you off at home. Rachel, Kristoff-- my office the moment I’m back. Do I make myself clear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>She wanted to tell him it would be alright, that she wasn’t going to pull the plug on her late husband’s last wish over some petty lie, but she couldn’t find the words; she barely managed to give Kristoff a pat on the arm before turning to go, wishing more than anything that Harry was there; he always knew exactly what to say.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank you rhianne and gabi for your help!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. a rebirth and a birth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>so sorry for how long this one took, there was just a lot of stuff i wanted to make sure and get right because this is an important one for a few different reasons</p><p>thank you molly and laura for birth advice, thank you rhianne for reading over tons of this, thank you gabi for being my wife, thank you melanie for making me laugh while i finished this up</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He wished more than anything that Anna was there; she always knew exactly what to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Actually, he wished Oaken was here, too, so they could go ahead and get what was sure to be the most painful conversation of his life over with. Which was saying something, considering his failed proposal to Rachel and the breakup with Anna had previously been vying for the top spot. But getting fired, getting his career prospects ruined, and getting sent home to the States in disgrace within a year of </span>
  <em>
    <span>both</span>
  </em>
  <span> of those heartbreaks-- shit. Even Sven would have a hard time making him laugh about this one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He let out a deep breath, lowering his head to run a shaky hand through his hair. He and Rachel both had sequestered themselves in Oaken’s office a few moments after he and Mrs. MacLaren had left; they sat now on opposite ends of a worn sofa, the silence growing increasingly oppressive. Even in the main part of the office nobody dared to speak or cough or even type too loudly. Rachel was sitting perfectly still beside him, for once keeping her mouth shut, leaving him with no distraction from the queasy feeling in his stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could think too seriously about getting up and grabbing the waste bin in case he did actually throw up, he heard the front door of the museum swing open and slam shut. Swallowing hard, he glanced up towards the door to the office and caught sight of Rachel’s face for the first time since they’d sat down. To his surprise, she looked even worse than he felt-- worse, he realized, than he’d ever seen her. There was a pallor to her face that made him wish he’d gotten the waste bin after all, but more unsettling than that was the look of fear in her eyes, so palpable that for a moment he forgot himself and said worriedly, “Rach, are you--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could finish, the door slammed open, but it didn’t matter, anyway; Rachel hadn’t shown any sign of hearing him. Steeling himself, Kristoff looked up at Dr. Oaken’s furious expression as the large man shut the door behind himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Twenty years,” he ground out, his eyes blazing, “twenty years of studying and teaching and working at museums, and I have </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> seen such utterly </span>
  <em>
    <span>childish</span>
  </em>
  <span> behavior. Have either of you got </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> to say for yourselves?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff lowered his eyes again, shaking his head slightly, and Rachel still said nothing. Oaken made a small noise of disgust as he stood in front of them, drawing up to his full height and crossing his arms. “Is it true, then, Bjorgman?” he barked out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff nodded mutely, before realizing a longer explanation was expected. “Yes,” he said, his voice strangely hoarse. “We’re not married.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you understand that </span>
  <em>
    <span>lying</span>
  </em>
  <span> about that jeopardizes your visa to stay here? And that it’s going to cast suspicion on </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> of us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span> the hell did you do it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff fiddled with a loose string on his cuff, knowing Anna would scold him for doing so if she were here and that he’d catch her at home later mending it. “Mrs. MacLaren, um, she wouldn’t rent the house to us if we weren’t married. And then, with her, um, with her donating so much to the museum--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus </span>
  <em>
    <span>Christ</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Oaken muttered; Kristoff looked up and saw he was pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fucking idiots, the both of you. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Abernathy-- any explanation for </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span> you felt the need to announce all of this to the whole office?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t respond, not even with a shake of the head. As Kristoff watched, a tear plopped down her cheek and landed on the knee of her pants. After an agonizing moment of silence that seemed like it might stretch on forever, Oaken let out another angry huff. “I don’t know what happened between the pair of you,” he said, his voice icy, “but you had better work it out </span>
  <em>
    <span>right now</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and then get back to work and </span>
  <em>
    <span>clean up the mess you’ve made</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Do I make myself clear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, he didn’t bother waiting for a response before storming back out into the main part of the office, slamming the door behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff just sat for a few minutes, trying to figure out where to even begin, before an audible sniffle escaped Rachel and he decided that that was as good a place as any to start. “Rachel--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice smaller than he’d ever heard it. “I’m so sorry, Kristoff, really.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stilled for a moment as he looked at her, the shock of it taking his breath away. Hadn’t those been the words he’d wanted to hear, that she’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>owed</span>
  </em>
  <span> him, for so long? He’d given up on hearing them ages ago, figured she’d just go on insisting she was in the right and trying to weasel her way back into his life as long as they both worked together, and then eventually one of them would be Oaken’s pick to stay on as curator, and then one way or the other, he’d be free of her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” he heard himself say. “You...are?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For everything,” she said, finally looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes. “I-- oh, god, I-- I don’t think I’m a very good person, am I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he said bluntly. “I don’t think you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A choked laugh escaped her as she wiped frantically at her eyes. “Thank you. For being honest. I-- god. I really fucked up, even before now. But-- oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>god</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tears cascaded down her cheeks so quickly that she couldn’t seem to catch them, no matter how hard she tried. Kristoff glanced at the box of tissues on Oaken’s desk and was halfway through reaching for it when a desolate little sob escaped her, and he found himself turning back to her and, questioning whether it was a good idea even as he did it, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re alright,” he said quietly, trying not to think about how he’d held Anna like this. “It’s gonna be okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think it will,” she said, her voice tight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll fix it, Rach, okay? I’ll go talk to Mrs. MacLaren, and we’ll calm Oaken down, and then it’ll get back on track just like we’ve always planned.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her fingers tightened in the back of his sweater. “You’ve always been too good for me, Kristoff,” she said softly. “For me, and for the whole rest of the world. I hope you know that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now you’re just being silly,” he said gruffly. “I’m just me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just you,” she said, sitting up to meet his eyes, “has always, </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span>, been enough. And I’m-- I’m sorry. I think I-- I think I need to take the rest of the day off. But I’ll-- I’ll start fixing things first thing tomorrow, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted to believe her, he really did, but he knew her too well, knew that this seeming moment of weakness would be ignored, or vehemently denied if he got the nerve to bring it up. But instead he just nodded and said, “Okay.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <span>Anna plodded downstairs, tying her hair up into a loose bun on the top of her head as her face screwed up in a massive yawn. It had been another nearly sleepless night; she just hadn’t seemed to be able to get warm enough to fall asleep. At last she had given up and gone to her hamper, pulled out the sweatshirt Kristoff had loaned her, and thrown it in the washing machine. When she’d first gotten back to Boston, she’d put off washing it as long as she could, but once the scent of his shower gel had finally dissipated, she’d given in; now, it got washed a couple of times a week and worn more days than not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d dozed, leaning against the washer and then the dryer, until at last it was done, and when she pulled it on, pretending the lingering warmth was from him, and curled back up in bed, she was fast asleep within five minutes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But even after all that, she’d only managed to get four or five hours of sleep, only getting up when the sunlight was too bright to be ignored. She stumbled around the kitchen, the sweatshirt hanging down nearly to her knees and her eyes still half-closed, and made herself a bowl of sugary cereal, disdaining the whole-wheat bread and Greek yogurts her sister stocked up on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She slumped with a sigh into a chair at the table, half-considering going back to bed and trying to sleep with a pillow over her face. She’d been chasing some leads about doing some after-school tutoring to keep herself busy, and she’d started the paperwork to be a substitute teacher at the elementary school up the road, but today there was nothing to look forward to apart from pestering her sister and doing the weekly vacuuming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anna?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm?” she yawned, not looking up from her bowl of cereal; it was amazing, really, how much longer it took to wake up without coffee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you busy today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘m never busy, Els.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, good,” her sister replied, sounding oddly nervous. “Because I think I’m in labor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>there</span>
  </em>
  <span> was a wake-up call if she’d ever had one. “Jesus Christ!” Anna yelped, jumping up so quickly she knocked her chair over. “But he’s not supposed to be here yet!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it’s only nine days early, or maybe eight, I don’t know if it’s an hour-by-hour thing or what, and anyway when my water broke--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your water already broke?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, right before I got in the shower, so--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus Christ,” Anna muttered again, realizing Elsa’s hair was wet as she headed for the stairs. “And you went through your morning routine anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I didn’t know what else to do. You weren’t awake yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you didn’t wake me up?” Anna called over her shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t sure if it was the real thing. So I googled it. And he’s definitely coming, because the contractions you have when it’s the real ones not the fake one hurt really bad, kinda like right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna hurried back down the stairs, nearly tripping over the pair of jeans she was still pulling on. “Are you okay?” she asked anxiously. “Do you wanna hold my hand?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No-- ah, </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” she said, wincing. “Yes, actually, please, thanks, that would be great.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna held out her hand, trying to hide her own wince when Elsa squeezed hard enough to crack her knuckles. “Good, now?” she squeaked out when her sister let out a sigh a few moments later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Elsa said, dropping her hand and following her around the kitchen as she scrambled to fling a few last-minute items into the overnight bag they’d packed two weeks ago. “It’s all good. While I was googling the other stuff I googled if it’s okay for it to be early, and it’s actually really surprisingly common to have a baby before its due date, did you know that? But he’s still not premature, so that’s good, because-- ow!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Anna said hurriedly, scrambling back over to offer her hand again. “Okay, so we can-- we can worry about toothbrushes once we’re there. Come on, out to the car.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can dri--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you cannot,” Anna said firmly as she held open the door for her sister. “I will drive, and I will make double sure to drive on the right side of the road this time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure</span>
  </em>
  <span>, because--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was one time! And I was still jet-lagged!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Elsa didn’t reply, Anna glanced behind her to see she had stopped, one hand on her stomach and the other propping her up on the wall-- and it occurred to her for the first time that her sister was wearing only a t-shirt and leggings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re okay, Els,” she said softly, crossing back over to her as quickly as she could and offering a hand to squeeze. When the contraction had passed, she let go and pulled off the sweatshirt without a moment’s hesitation, not caring that she was wearing only a holey t-shirt underneath it. “And here. Put this on so you don’t freeze to death before we even get to the hospital.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Anna fussed over helping her put the sweatshirt on, trying not to think about how it was so big that somehow it actually fit, Elsa managed a soft “thank you,” trying and failing to conjure up a smile. Anna could see in her eyes that the initial shock was wearing off and morphing quickly into panic. “Okay,” she said, doing her best to keep her own voice even, “now let’s get you in the car and get on the road, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elsa nodded and allowed her to pull her along and help her into the car; she didn’t argue even when Anna fastened the seatbelt around her. In fact, she was quiet, apart from a few hisses of pain as she curled her fingers into fists around the hem of the sweatshirt, until they had pulled onto I-90. Anna swore at the sight of weekday morning traffic. “Can we go in the carpool lane, d’you think?” she asked. “I mean, we’re going to have three people in here if they don’t hurry up and start </span>
  <em>
    <span>moving</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Elsa didn’t reply, Anna glanced over and realized, to her horror, that Elsa was sniffling quietly, dabbing at her eyes with her sleeves. “Does it hurt that bad?” Anna asked anxiously. “Do you want me to call 911 or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No-- I mean yes--” Elsa said, her voice shaking. “It hurts, but that’s-- that’s not it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna held out her hand again over the center console, offering a sympathetic smile when her sister took it. “What’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m scared,” Elsa whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About having the baby? It’ll be fine, we’ll get you the epidural and he’ll slide right out, and I’ll be right there the whole time, and--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no,” she said, shaking her head. “I mean...after that. When it’s-- when it’s just us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna frowned as the car inched forward. “Just us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just...me and him. I…” She screwed up her face, trying to hold back a sob. “I, um, I actually texted Michael this morning when my water broke, just...just in case he might want to know. And, um, it said the number was no longer in service.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna felt her face flush scarlet with anger. “I’m gonna go to California and kick his ass, so help m--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Anna, it’s-- it’s fine, it’s what we agreed to, I don’t know why I thought he’d even care. It’s just...I…” Her lower lip wobbled as a fresh wave of tears slid down her cheeks. “What if there’s not enough people to love him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna felt her own eyes beginning to well up with tears. “Well-- well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> love him. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> love him. And that’s a lot, I think, but there’s-- there’s Jane and my other friends, remember, and--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But they’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> friends. And when you go back to Scotland--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Why do you think I’m going back?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elsa’s eyebrows furrowed together. “Because...because you had a job, and you were in school, and--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you’re my sister. So I came back to help you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elsa opened her mouth to reply, but instead a hiss escaped her as another contraction washed over her and she clamped down on Anna’s hand. When it was done, she managed to say, “I don’t-- I don’t expect you to give up your whole life to help me, Anna. What kind of sister would I be if I asked you to do that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well-- what kind of sister would I be if I </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> do it?” Anna replied, now wearing a frown of her own as she finally caught sight of the exit they needed to take. “You need me. And so does the baby.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she gasped, already grabbing for Anna’s hand again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna squeezed her hand in return, forcing herself to keep her voice cheerful. “Well, you’re stuck with me now, like it or not! So right now, let’s just worry about getting to the hospital and having this baby, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elsa let out a huff and leaned back against the seat, though she didn’t bother dropping her hand. “You’re not getting out of this that easy, Anna. As soon as I get that epidural--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah,” Anna said as she edged closer to the exit. “I’m sure there’ll be plenty to distract you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>His finger was trembling as he pressed the button to ring the doorbell; </span>
  <em>
    <span>from the cold</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he tried to tell himself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>that’s all</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Coming,” came the familiar voice, followed by slow footsteps until at last the door creaked open and Mrs. MacLaren peered up at him, her eyes magnified by her reading glasses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff cleared his throat. “Um. Good evening, Mrs. MacLaren, I just, um-- just wanted to come by and--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Explain yourself?” she asked, her forehead furrowing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well-- yes,” he said sheepishly before shifting his arm to show the two pans he was cradling in it. “And bring you some dinner? If you’d like it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trying to butter me up?” she asked, her voice still stern, though her eyes warmed slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s Anna’s recipes, if that helps.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiled at that and stepped back, holding the door open for him. “It does.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neither of them spoke as she led him through the small house to the kitchen and directed him on where to set down the pans, then where to find the plates and utensils they needed. He complied without complaint, hoping that each instruction he followed might garner him one more tiny bit of forgiveness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s carbonara,” he explained when she asked what they’d need to serve the food. “And brownies.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Awfully fancy for a weeknight dinner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, it’s easy, really, the way she makes it. And I made it with extra cheese, same way she made it for me the first time. She forgot she’d already put some in, typical Anna,” he said, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “But it only made it better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was quiet for a moment, watching him; he fought the urge to look away from her, to find some way to hide from her piercing gaze. At last she patted the back of his arm and gestured towards the fridge. “Go on and get us both something to drink. I’ll make plates.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What would you like? Water?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodness, no, not after a day like today,” she tutted. “I’ll have a can of Tennent’s. You can have two if you like, Harry always did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He managed, just barely, to hold in his laughter. “Would you like it in a glass?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I let a Yank like you pour, it’d be all foam. Do go on and open it for me, though, that’s a dear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff settled across from her at the table, raising his eyebrows at the sight of how much pasta she’d piled in his plate. When she noticed his expression, Mrs. MacLaren inclined her head towards a black and white photograph on the fridge of a young woman with dark, curly hair sitting on the shoulder of a massive, bearded man wearing a kilt, both of them grinning so widely their eyes were barely visible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>almost</span>
  </em>
  <span> as tall as he was,” she said, reaching over the table to pat his hand. “So trust me, I’m used to being eaten out of house and home. Besides, you’re looking too skinny these days-- don’t give me that look! I’m much too old to be fooled anymore. Well-- about most things, anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff drew in long breath, feeling chastised. He spun his fork in his pasta, not looking up at her as he tried to collect his thoughts. “Mrs. MacLaren--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were right,” she interrupted. “This pasta is very good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He managed a nod, still spinning his fork, and heard her sigh in exasperation. “Stop moping, Kristoff,” she said firmly. “You’re making me lose my appetite.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His cheeks reddened. “Sorry. It’s just--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not about to pull my money out of the museum, if that’s what all this is about. It’s all my husband asked me to make sure and do when he passed. I’m not letting young folks’ foolishness ruin that for him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Kristoff said, finally daring to look up at her, and when she opened her mouth to interrupt him, he added quickly, “For your loss, I mean. I-- I can’t imagine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a long moment, they both just looked at each other, a weighty silence hanging between them, before Mrs. MacLaren sighed and sat back in her chair. “Thank you. I appreciate it. When you get to my age, people don’t seem to say it as much. Almost like they’re thinking ‘well, what’d you expect, that he’d just go on and on forever?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff held his tongue, unsure of what to say, and after a moment she went on. “I suppose some part of me did think that. Mad old bastard...if anyone could’ve managed it, I thought it’d be him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tapped her fingers thoughtfully on her can of beer before looking back up at him with a wry smile. “It was his idea to start telling all our renters we were churchgoing folk and that they had to be married to stay. So I suppose this is all his fault, really.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff blinked at her for a moment, too shocked to speak, and she burst into laughter. “Oh, he’d love to see your face right now,” she said, wiping at the corner of her eye. “He always was a bit of a shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you-- but you said-- and-- the Jesus on the living room wall--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That ugly old thing? He got that for fifty pence at a charity shop, said it looked more like Eric Idle than Christ so he had to get it. No, neither of us have been to church since our wedding. We just got tired of couples breaking up and breaking their lease. Or the windows.” At his expression, she chuckled and gestured at his plate. “Well, if you’re going to let your mouth hang open like that, might as well put some supper in it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She took a bite of her own then, not speaking again until he had given in and eaten a few mouthfuls. It wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>quite</span>
  </em>
  <span> as good as Anna’s, but it was still a far cry from the TV dinners he’d been subsisting on for the last few weeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So I’m sorry that I scared you and Dr. Oaken,” she said, looking somewhat less amused. “I suppose it was just a bit of a shock, hearing that girl-- what’s her name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rachel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, that’s right-- hearing her say all that. And, well, I suppose I was disappointed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Disappointed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was quiet for a minute or two, gathering her thoughts, and Kristoff waited patiently; he was grateful to have a moment to sort out his own. The evening was going very differently from what he’d expected; he’d been ready to outright beg on his knees for her forgiveness if he had to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We never did have children of our own, you know,” she said at last. “So Harry was terribly worried about me being left alone, and I suppose-- I suppose some silly part of me thought maybe despite all our blaspheming, he’d managed to make it upstairs alright and pull some strings to send you two along. And I’d forgotten, of course, that you two’re human after all, with minds of your own, and that you probably weren’t quite so enamored of me as I was of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the second time that day, he wished desperately that Anna was there, that she’d have the words he couldn’t quite find; as if she could read his mind, Mrs. MacLaren smiled fondly at him. “It’s alright. I know I’m a sentimental old fool just rambling and driving you half-mad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s not that,” he said quickly, “it’s just I-- I suppose I got used to Anna doing all the talking for us. Not all of it, I mean, just-- when I didn’t know what to say. Like right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She watched him for a moment, her eyebrows pulling together. “But you really weren’t married?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head. “I met her the same day we rented the house. I didn’t even know her name until we were about to sign the papers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A surprised laugh escaped her. “What? But you-- I never doubted you were married, not even for a second.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We spent the whole walk to the house arguing. I think she thought I was a murderer or something. And then we argued some more every time you weren’t in the room.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sat back in her chair. “But you love her,” she said, so matter-of-factly that now he was the one surprised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked down at the silver ring where it still shone on his left hand; he hadn’t had the heart to take it off. He didn’t know if he ever would. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs. MacLaren smiled and patted his hand again. “When’s she coming back?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallowed hard. “I don’t think she’s planning to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, then,” she said firmly, getting up to slice into the tray of brownies, “you’ll just have to give her a reason to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>It was taking him even longer than normal to fall asleep tonight. He kept playing with the ring on his left hand, spinning it absentmindedly as he stared up at the ceiling, still trying to process what Rachel had said this morning and everything Mrs. MacLaren had told him that evening. After supper, he’d helped her do the dishes, and then they’d lingered over cups of tea as she told him more about how she’d met and married her husband. By the end of it, Kristoff was just watching her, feeling slightly awed as he tried to comprehend the magnitude of </span>
  <em>
    <span>eight decades</span>
  </em>
  <span> with the same person. Seeing his reaction, she had laughed softly and said, “So I don’t know if I believe in all that true love nonsense-- but if it’s real, it’s what we had. And I hope you find it too, Kristoff, whether it’s with Anna or not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He groaned and flopped over onto his stomach, burying his face in the sofa cushion. She’d been gone a month now, and still he couldn’t bring himself to sleep in the bed upstairs or make a cup of coffee or even take the pair of socks she’d forgotten about off the radiator. It was stupid, he knew, letting himself wallow in the futility of it all, still living as if she might come walking back in the door any minute now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Four days, and not a word from her, and how long had it been before that, and it wasn’t the way it had used to be, so easy and intimate and </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span>, like it had been when she--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” he said aloud; it helped, somewhat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glanced over at his phone; a quarter past one. He had another day of work in the morning, assuming Oaken didn’t fire him the moment he walked in the door. The funding was alright now, he knew, but the fact remained that he’d still lied to his boss and to everyone else for </span>
  <em>
    <span>months</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and besides the professional complications that would entail, there were the personal ones, and--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sat all the way up and buried his face in his hands, another muttered </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> escaping him. He knew exactly what would cheer him up, who would know exactly what to say to get him laughing before she reassured him that it would all be alright in the end, and that was exactly who he couldn’t call about it. He needed to tell her eventually, he knew, but she had enough on her plate to worry about already; once it all was settled, once he knew which way tomorrow was going to go, then he’d text and let her know, and if she ignored it, well, she had every right to, didn’t she? If she wasn’t ever coming back, would she even care at all?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stared at his phone for a long moment before flicking the silent button back off. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just in case</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he told himself before he flopped back onto the sofa, feeling ragged around the edges, somehow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, he supposed, he drifted off into an uneasy sleep, interrupted by fragmented, unsettling dreams that left his mind as soon as he woke, leaving behind only a bitter taste in his mouth. He had just fallen back asleep after one bad enough he’d considered just getting up when he heard his phone ring on the coffee table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sat up, squinting at the sudden brightness until the letters that had appeared assembled themselves into words. For a moment he just stared, trying to make sense of why Anna’s name was appearing on his phone screen, and then a pang of fear struck him; what could be wrong enough that she’d be calling </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> of all people?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A second later and the phone was up to his ear, his heart hammering so loudly his sleep-addled mind wondered if she’d be able to hear it. “Anna? Are you--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Kristoff!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” she said, her voice so happy that immediately his worries melted away. “Kris, she had the baby!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shifted to sit full upright, an uncontrollable grin stretching across his face. “Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah! And he didn’t come out with a cone head or anything!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A burst of laughter escaped him. “Glad to hear it. What’s his name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aaron Olaf, can you believe it? Poor kid. I already started calling him Olly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aaron’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> bad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, it is! He doesn’t look like an Aaron at </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span>. More like a Ben, I think. Or a Max.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll have to send me pictures later,” Kristoff said through a massive yawn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! Oh, shit! I forgot you’re in-- oh, god, what is it, like, two A.M. there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Five, actually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fu-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>frick</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she amended hurriedly. “I keep forgetting you’re not supposed to cuss in front of kids. I’m so sorry, Kris, really, I’ll let you go back to sleep. It’s just been such a long day, and I was so excited, and I-- I guess you were just the first person I wanted to call.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, there sure as hell wasn’t going to be any falling back asleep for him after </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “It’s fine, baby, really,” he reassured her through another yawn. “I don’t mind at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She grew suddenly quiet on the other end of the phone; his exhausted mind was still trying to puzzle out why when she said softly, “Thanks for picking up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Always,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he wanted to say, but instead he replied, “Sure, no problem. It’s good to hear from you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, anyway, I-- I better get going, they’re doing-- well, you don’t want to know what they’re doing-- and I need to hold Olly. But, um, I’ll send pictures tomorrow if you still want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds good,” he yawned. “You get some sleep, too, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughed softly. “I’ll try. Night, Kris.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Night, Anna,” he said, not lowering the phone until he heard the dial tone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He set it back down on the coffee table and just stared at it for a long moment, an uncontrollable smile blooming over his face. Maybe-- just maybe-- his whole life wasn’t such a mess after all.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. first steps</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you as always to my friends for their support and encouragement, thank you especially to the ones who explained how having a baby in a hospital actually works and what happens the next day, extra big thanks to molly for reading over this chapter and keeping me from panicking that it wasn't good enough</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It had crept up on her over the months, this sense of connection, of belonging, of </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and so it was somehow both surprising and not to feel a new rush of affection when she held her son in her arms and looked down and saw him looking back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” Elsa whispered, her mouth curling up into a smile as she let her thumb settle against the rosy, peachskin-soft curve of his cheek. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He yawned in response, his little face screwing up just the way Anna’s always had, and she couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. She settled back against the bed, drinking in the tranquility of the first moment they’d had alone together. The baby was back to staring up at her, his dark blue eyes watching, curious, as she trailed her fingers over the curve of his nose, around the little knob of his chin, and then to brush against his open palm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think we’re gonna be alright, you and me,” she whispered, and when he wrapped his tiny fist around her finger, almost as if he were agreeing with her, she couldn’t help but smile.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“‘S’wrong?” Anna heard herself say as she came into consciousness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It all began to click into place as she rubbed at her eyes; the crick in her neck from where she’d fallen asleep curled up in a chair, the half-light in the hospital room, the baby working himself up into an all-out squall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re okay, buddy,” Elsa said, already moving to get up even as she winced in pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” Anna said, jumping to her feet so quickly she felt dizzy for a moment. “I can help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re sweet,” her sister said through a yawn, “but it’s my job. Go back to sleep, you must be exhausted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You</span>
  </em>
  <span> sleep, Els,” Anna said firmly as she moved towards the bassinet in the middle of the room. “You’ve more than earned it. I’ve got this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her sister yawned again, even more widely this time, though she kept one eye cracked as she watched Anna gently lift the infant out of his bassinet. “You sure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hundred percent. I know which way the diaper goes now, I know where you put the fresh-squeezed boob juice--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span> don’t call it that--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“--and I know like, a million lullabies. So we’re good. Go to sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Already the baby had begun to quiet in Anna’s arms, and it didn’t take any more convincing than that to get Elsa to lie back down. Smiling faintly, Anna held her still-snuffling nephew closer to her chest. “Shhhh, Olly,” she whispered, bouncing him carefully. “I’m right here, I’ve got you. What’d you need, huh? You hungry? Or just need Aunt Anna to hold you for a while?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Judging by the way his breaths were already evening back out as he gazed up at her, blue eyes wide, it was the latter, and she didn’t mind in the slightest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you,” she whispered; she wanted to make sure he was certain of that from the start. “You’re my new favorite thing. Just don’t tell Kris, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought, turning to kiss the top of his head, as if he were a lucky charm whose benefits she desperately needed to reap. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Where did </span>
  </em>
  <span>that</span>
  <em>
    <span> come from?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She felt something tickling her collarbone and looked down to see a tiny fist slowly curling and uncurling around the narrow silver chain that hung around her neck and disappeared beneath the collar of her t-shirt. “Nosy little thing,” she teased, keeping her voice barely above a whisper for fear of waking her sister; she hadn’t yet been able to bring herself to admit the true extent of her relationship with Kristoff to Elsa, and she certainly didn’t want to broach that subject at three A.M. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pulled the chain free of the confines of her shirt and held up the silver ring that hung suspended from it for the baby to examine. “See?” she said softly. “Nothing very special, just silver plate. Think it only cost him twenty pounds. But I can’t quite give up wearing it just yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Olly’s fist kept curling and uncurling around the air, and she laughed and dropped the ring to offer him her finger. When he grabbed it and held on tight, she kissed the tip of his head again. “Clever boy,” she said with a wink. “You already know who’s going to spoil you every time you do something cute.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a while she just stood with him, looking out of the window at the world down below and bouncing him absentmindedly as his eyelids slowly drooped lower and lower. How small and vast the world seemed to be all at once, that she could hold a whole life here close to her chest and peer through the glass and catch a glimpse of the nameless hundreds she’d never meet who had once been held this same way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you,” she said again, even though Olly had already fallen back asleep, because it always bore repeating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tucked him carefully back in under the hospital’s blanket and the one Jane had monogrammed herself for him; she’d have to send a picture of him wrapped in it to her. And, well--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She bit her lip. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> asked for pictures, and when she’d said she’d do it he’d said it sounded good, and he’d called her baby, and-- and that was something, wasn’t it? At least reason enough not to feign forgetting he’d asked?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She ought to just curl up in her chair again and do her best to fall back asleep, ought to wait til she could think more clearly in the morning. Instead she snapped a fuzzy picture of Olly fast asleep in the bassinet, then sifted through the others she’d taken that evening; one of him right after he’d been born, one of Elsa holding him and grinning at the camera, one of him where he actually had his eyes open, and then, before she could think better of it, one of herself grinning down at him as she held him for the first time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hit send before she could second- (or, really, if she was being honest, third- or fourth-) guess herself and sat down in the chair, drawing her knees up to her chest. He probably wouldn’t even pay any mind to the one of her, and if he did, it was sort of blurry because Elsa had taken it from the bed, and, well, they’d shared a bed, so he’d definitely seen her looking worse-- and having a baby in it automatically made the picture better didn’t it? So--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She yawned so widely her jaw cracked, startling her out of her spiral of thoughts. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just wait</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she told herself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>just wait and see what he says. And then maybe you’ll know.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Apparently he had fallen asleep just after texting Sven and letting him know he’d finally heard from Anna, because he woke up to a missed call and five messages from his friend.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿</span>
  <em>
    <span>tell me more!!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>KRISTOFF!!!!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dude fuck time zones</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Like I’m just saying nyc isnt that far from boston theres a reason paul revere rode between those two so like i can go check on her anytime JUST SAYING</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Which i might do anyway i fuckin love babies</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff rolled his eyes as he tapped out a reply.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t think that’s how that happened. The Paul Revere thing, I mean. And there isn’t more to tell yet.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>To his surprise, the phone buzzed again even before he’d made his way off the couch and up the stairs to the bathroom.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Gdi</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>also shut up history man not all of us can be smart and ps im putting my phone on silent now unlike some psychopaths i dont think its fun to have my phone go off AT 3 AM</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had long since put the phone aside and was halfway through shampooing his hair before realizing, first of all, that he was fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>humming</span>
  </em>
  <span>— one of those songs Anna used to sing whenever she made breakfast on Sundays— and second of all, that he had actually slept until his alarm went off at seven instead of waking up at half past five and having to choose between the agony of staring at the living room ceiling for an hour and a half or running a couple of miles in the late winter sludge.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Typical Anna</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought affectionately as he rinsed the shampoo out, </span>
  <em>
    <span>always know just what I need, don’t you?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The ache of missing her was still there, of course, but it was easier to bear somehow knowing she felt it, too, that at least he had the comfort of knowing that whatever had been— well, whatever </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> between them; no point in dishonesty in his own mind— was real, that he had the right to mourn it like he was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he didn’t feel like mourning today, not when last night he’d been the one she wanted to call. He knew he’d be riding that high as long as he could in order to make it through what was sure to be a grueling day of tense meetings and awkward explanations. No, even if Rachel had another breakdown today, he’d be able to manage it so long as he knew he’d get to talk to Anna again today. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You fucking sap, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he could hear Sven saying now, </span>
  <em>
    <span>when’d you go all soft on me, eh?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He was still grinning as he got out of the shower, even as he caught a glimpse of his reflection before the mirror fogged completely over; he was in desperate need of a shave and a haircut. If Anna were here, she’d probably already be going half mad, offering to cut it herself at her desk during the post-lunch lull. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Then again, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thought, the very idea of it making something warm within his chest, </span>
  <em>
    <span>maybe she’d actually like it. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>That warm feeling and thoughts of Anna were what sustained his good spirits even as he made his way to the museum, though the closer he got, the more he had to focus on them in order to push aside the dread that threatened to overtake him with thoughts of calling in sick and taking the day off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To his great relief, when he first slipped in through the doors, trying to draw as little attention to himself as possible, there was no sign of Rachel, and Dr. Oaken’s door was shut; </span>
  <em>
    <span>the two of them must be in another meeting</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought as he hung up his coat and headed over to his desk. He grabbed the mug he kept on the corner, another grin spreading over his face at the memory of Anna buying him this one. “It looks just like you,” she’d said, dissolving into a fit of giggles as she held it out to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I look like fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>Grumpy Cat</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her laughter had only grown louder then. “Oh my god, you’re making the face right now!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was still smiling as he came up beside Ryder in the little kitchen in the back of the office. “Morning,” Kristoff said with a quick nod.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other man raised an eyebrow. “Guess you heard the news, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What news?” Kristoff asked as he plunked the tea bag into the bottom of his mug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rachel quit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He froze halfway through reaching for the kettle. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>What?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of all the things he had expected to happen today, that had been-- well, not even in the running. Rachel had been the one to find this opportunity, to get them the interview, to help him figure out moving here; it was her </span>
  <em>
    <span>dream</span>
  </em>
  <span>, one she’d always been so certain of. For her to give it up--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened?” he asked, the tea entirely forgotten. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, so </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span> you want to talk to me about your girl drama?” Ryder asked coolly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff winced. “Okay, I deserve that--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“--but I’ll explain later, I promise. Over drinks on me, if you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other man considered it for a moment before nodding. “Fine. But in that case, we’re going to less of a shithole tonight. You don’t have the ‘I’m just an intern’ excuse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Deal. Now please--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kristoff!” Tessa said as she came over with her own mug. “Oh, thank God, you’re here!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is something wrong?” he asked, the smile he’d worn walking in long since faded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no, it’s not now! I just thought maybe you’d quit, too, like everyone else seems to be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’ve been trying to figure out--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bjorgman!” Oaken boomed as he swung open the door. “About time you got here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>early</span>
  </em>
  <span>--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Our new receptionist is here. Mind showing her around?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A small, dark-haired woman stepped out from behind the massive man and smiled nervously at Kristoff. “So-- just to be sure-- you’re the assistant curator who’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>staying</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Kristoff said, doing his best to maintain his composure, “I suppose I am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>suppose</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Ryder interjected. “Mate, if you--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A ping sounded; they all glanced at their pockets, but, to Kristoff’s delight, it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> phone that had sounded. “Sorry, just a sec, this is important--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So is your </span>
  <em>
    <span>job</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Oaken said sternly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” he said, still a bit wary. “I didn’t know if you might want to see, too.” He held up the phone, grinning. “Anna’s sister just had her baby. And she just sent pictures.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To his surprise, the squeal of excitement that escaped his boss was somehow louder than everyone else’s put together. Quickly giving up hope of getting a look himself, he turned over the phone to the hand that looked greediest and returned to making his tea. After a moment, Ryder elbowed him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, while they’re otherwise occupied,” he said, raising an eyebrow, “what’s it supposed to mean that Anna’s still sending you pictures, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff groaned. “We’re not getting </span>
  <em>
    <span>any</span>
  </em>
  <span> work done today, are we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yes we are,” Oaken said; the prospect of somebody slacking off might have been the only thing that could pull him away from photos of a baby. “You’re giving Miss Cameron a tour.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff frowned. “Who?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh-- that’d be me!” said the new receptionist. “Gemma Cameron. Lovely to make your acquaintance, Kristoff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yours, too. Just let me get my phone back, and I’ll give you the whole run of the place, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds great,” she chirped. “The baby’s adorable, by the way. Congratulations!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, but--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t that </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> sweatshirt, Kristoff?” Tessa asked sweetly as she held the phone up to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure enough, it was a photo of Elsa grinning ear to ear as she held up her son to the camera-- and she was wearing the dark green sweatshirt he’d sent off with Anna. “Um,” he said, his cheeks reddening. “Yes. I guess, um. I let Anna borrow it, so--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Borrow? As in it’s coming </span>
  <em>
    <span>back</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, for the love of--” He snatched his phone back from Tessa, who was doing a piss-poor job of holding in her laughter. “You’re all giving our poor new receptionist an absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>terrible</span>
  </em>
  <span> impression of this place, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, it’s quite alright, really!” the poor receptionist in question piped up. “I used to be a server at the Hard Rock Cafe in Edinburgh. So really, anything would be better than that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You poor woman,” Ryder said, wide-eyed. How’re you not in the loony bin?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She is,” Kristoff deadpanned. “Come on then-- Gemma, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Got it in one!” she said cheerfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kristoff?” Oaken said before they could turn entirely away. “Come see me in my office when you two are done.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff forced himself to smile. “Sure thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took Gemma through the exhibit halls first, waiting patiently while she examined the displays they already had set up and dutifully answering all the questions she had about the artifacts, holding back most of his laughter when she admitted sheepishly that she was surprised things didn’t look quite the same as they did in </span>
  <em>
    <span>Outlander</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’d you end up so interested in Scotland, anyhow?” she asked him as she knelt to examine an array of hunting knives he and Ryder hadn’t quite finished sorting through yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah-- well here’s your chance to get me back for laughing at you about </span>
  <em>
    <span>Outlander</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Saw </span>
  <em>
    <span>Braveheart</span>
  </em>
  <span> when I was a kid, went to the library and checked out as many books as they’d let me about Scotland.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gemma laughed at that. “Bit disappointed when you found out things weren’t quite the same as they were in the movie?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At first, yeah, but then I found out it was all more interesting than the movie, anyway. And I guess…” He shrugged. “Guess I never stopped being interested.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiled up at him. “Well. We’re glad to have you here. Always nice to meet an American who can say Kircaldy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the tour wasn’t nearly as exciting; he showed her the filing cabinets and explained their system, which she promised she’d remember without taking notes. “Memorized all those orders for ten-tops,” she explained cheerfully. “So this is nothing!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then it was the closet where they kept office supplies-- they needed a restock, he realized; he used to go with Anna once a month because she was the only person in the world who got a kick out of office stores. She’d already met everyone else-- “There’ll be loads of new people soon,” Kristoff warned, “would’ve been even without Rachel and Anna leaving. Our finance people have been splitting their time between here and some place on the other side of town, so they’ll be here, and then we’ll have to hire education people and tour guides and security guards and gift shop staff, stuff like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Getting close to opening, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. So maybe it’ll be you giving these tours in a couple of weeks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drew out the tour as long as he could, even demonstrating how to use the Keurig that only Rachel had ever touched, but eventually there was no corner of the office or museum left to explain, and he found himself standing in front of Oaken’s office door. He had just raised his fist to knock when he heard the other man call, “Come in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good luck,” Gemma whispered, giving him a wink just before the door closed behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dr. Oaken was sitting behind his desk, his fingers steepled and his expression unreadable. “Have a seat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff nodded and sat in one of the office chairs, his fingers curling nervously over the wooden arms. The moment of truth, then; perhaps Oaken would decide to just clean house and ask him to quit, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rachel resigned this morning,” Oaken said without preamble. “Came in as I was unlocking the door and handed me her letter. Said she thought it was for the best she skipped the two weeks’ notice and just cleaned out her desk, and I told her I thought she was right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But she’s...she’s brilliant,” Kristoff said, frowning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She is, absolutely. But the quality of her work has taken a steep downhill turn lately. I had already warned her twice. The first time was back when I took her off fundraising entirely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She told me that was her choice, since me and Anna were so much better at it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oaken snorted. “No. Spent forty minutes after hours arguing with her about why I wasn’t going to pull </span>
  <em>
    <span>Anna</span>
  </em>
  <span> off fundraising.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff sat back in his chair. “Well, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So. For the best, as I said. But that doesn’t mean her work goes away. Gemma can cover the administrative tasks for now, but once we actually open, she’ll be busy fielding calls and greeting visitors. Her curatorial duties will be split between you and Ryder for now, and once Ryder graduates and </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> half of the administrative work and fundraising is done, you’ll be our full-time assistant curator. Assuming you want to stay on, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Kristoff blurted out as quickly as he could for fear that if he didn’t snatch the opportunity up right away he’d lose it forever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One corner of Oaken’s mouth twitched up in the barest hint of a smile. “But that means that, come June, we’ll have both halves of the administrative and fundraising work left with no one to do them. Which means I need to know when Anna’s going to be back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was seized by sudden conflicting impulses to jump for joy and to bury his head in his hands; perhaps this </span>
  <em>
    <span>would</span>
  </em>
  <span> bring Anna back, but she’d said…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kristoff?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um,” he said, clearing his throat. “I don’t know when she’ll be back. Or if.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. Forgot for a second there that you two, ah, what was it Miss Abernathy saw fit to announce to the entire office and our biggest donor?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I cleared it up with Mrs. MacLaren,” Kristoff said quickly. “So that part’s fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. She called me last night on my personal phone, apologized for giving us all a fright.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So am I…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In trouble?” Oaken sighed. “Frankly, I haven’t got the time or the inclination to worry about putting you on probation or writing you up or whatever else. But I do expect an explanation at the very least.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a long story.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re an anthropologist,” Oaken deadpanned. “Your specialty is taking long stories and condensing them into one paragraph we can glue onto the wall next to an old shoe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff, nonplussed, just sat and stared at the other man for a long moment before sighing and rubbing the back of his neck. “Um. I met her my second day in town. My original living arrangements...didn’t work out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something with Rachel, I presume.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um.” Kristoff’s cheeks reddened at the memory of walking in and seeing Jeremy and Rachel in the middle of-- </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Yes. And we ran into each other walking to the house and argued over who was going to be the one to rent it, and Mrs. MacLaren assumed we were a couple wanting to rent it together, and then she said she only rented to </span>
  <em>
    <span>married</span>
  </em>
  <span> couples because she was religious, so we just…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lied,” Oaken said bluntly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well...yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The woman has a painting of John Cleese being crucified, and you didn’t think once that maybe she had been teasing you and you ought to confess?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff cleared his throat again. “It’s Eric Idle, actually. And we sort of thought maybe it was like that grandma who had a picture of Obi-Wan thinking it was Jesus, Anna showed me a meme one time where--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Speaking</span>
  </em>
  <span> of Anna,” Oaken interrupted. “You were certainly, ah, </span>
  <em>
    <span>committed</span>
  </em>
  <span> to maintaining the facade.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Had his face ever been so red in his life? “Um,” Kristoff stammered. “Well, like I said, we started out strangers. But, um, we did-- we did start dating--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Knew it,” he heard the other man mutter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff blinked and looked up. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oaken waved his hand in the air. “Nothing. Go on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But when she left…” Kristoff sighed. “We broke up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He heard a sudden gasp and whipped his head around towards the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goddammit,” Oaken said, already getting to his feet to open it. “I knew it was a design flaw to put my office right next to the kitchen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He opened the door to reveal that Tessa, Ryder, and Gemma had all </span>
  <em>
    <span>happened</span>
  </em>
  <span> to decide they wanted a cup of tea at the same time-- cups of tea they were all suddenly paying </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> close attention to. Even the little bald man who came in twice a week to handle the bookkeeping was resolutely stirring the mug in front of him, feigning a casual gaze out of the window, apparently having forgotten to actually drop the tea bag into the water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I ought to fire you all for impertinence and impropriety and half a dozen other things that start with imp,” Oaken said, trying his best to be stern. “Because that’s what you all are, a great sodding lot of nosy little imps.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you love us,” Ryder dared to say; he was rewarded with a tweak of the nose and a booming laugh.</span>
</p><p><span>“Back to work, all of you, and--”</span><span><br/>
</span> <span>“But we didn’t hear the end of the story!” the little bookkeeper cried, whatever had caught his attention outside forgotten. “Is Anna coming back or not?”</span></p><p>
  <span>Every head in the room swiveled to focus on Kristoff. “Um,” he said, feeling rather stupid at this point. “She said she’s not going to. But maybe she’ll change her mind. I hope she does.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>hope</span>
  </em>
  <span> she does?” Gemma queried. “Well, aren’t you going to </span>
  <em>
    <span>try</span>
  </em>
  <span> to convince her? I mean, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span> her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t I meet you just this morning?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, but Tessa’s got me all caught up,” she replied cheerfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure he’s going to at least try. Obviously he still cares about her,” Tessa said matter-of-factly. “He’s still wearing his wedding ring.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff glanced down. So he was. “Habit,” he muttered, quickly pulling it off and shoving it deep into his back pocket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked back up to see Ryder smirking at him. “Well, clearly it wasn’t a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad</span>
  </em>
  <span> breakup, since clearly the two of you are still talking. What time was it when she sent you those pictures?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kristoff’s eyes widened. “The pictures! I never texted her back, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I--” He paled. “Sorry, Dr. Oaken.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The larger man shook his head and turned back towards his office. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve given up on professionality in this office today.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anna prodded at the pile of lukewarm scrambled eggs on her plate, wrinkling her nose. The bacon, that hadn’t been so bad, and it was hard to mess up toast, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>these</span>
  </em>
  <span>...perhaps she should have gone for the strawberry yogurt after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had been banished to the hospital cafeteria when a nurse came by to check on Elsa around six; the nurse had said it was alright for her to say, but her sister had insisted on shooing her out. “But I can just sit here and hold Olly!” Anna had protested. “And I won’t look or anything. Even though I already saw </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span> yesterday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You need to </span>
  <em>
    <span>eat</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” came the stern reply. “You didn’t even get to finish your cereal, and you haven’t eaten since.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elsa was right, and she knew it, but still…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighed, mashing the rubbery eggs through the tines of her fork. Olly was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>much </span>
  </em>
  <span>better distraction from the fact that Kristoff hadn’t texted her back yet. It was already past eleven in Scotland, and he usually got in to work a bit before nine, which meant he’d been up for ages already and hadn’t even sent back a cursory </span>
  <em>
    <span>Congratulations!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was silly, she knew, to expect him to still care about her when </span>
  <em>
    <span>she’d</span>
  </em>
  <span> been the one to break up with </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>; honestly, it was probably unfair of her to be keeping in touch with him at all. Then again, when they had been talking more often, he’d been the first to text more than once, and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> asked her to send the pictures, and then he’d actually called her baby, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That was just because it was three in the morning</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought glumly as she got to her feet and picked up her tray. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He was being nice to get you off the phone, and he probably just said baby because he was thinking about Olly. No use getting your hopes up yet again</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She felt her phone buzz as she emerged back into the hallway; probably Elsa saying it was all clear for her to come back upstairs. She swiped the message open without bothering to look at the contact name and had to read it a full three times before she could really believe it was real.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sorry, got ambushed by everyone wanting to see the pictures and forgot to actually respond. He’s adorable :) Tell Elsa I said congrats!</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Anna moved to stand out of the way, leaning against a wall as she tried to decide what to say before giving up on ever figuring out what the “right” thing would be. She bit her lower lip, her fingers trembling for some inexplicable reason as they flew over the keyboard</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>it’s ok i know i called super late</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>and then texted super late or i guess early</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>and you have work so you’re super busy </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had gotten halfway through typing the word </span>
  <em>
    <span>sorry</span>
  </em>
  <span> when a reply came in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No, please don’t apologize. It was great to hear from you. I miss talking to you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tears sprung to her eyes for what felt like the millionth time in the last twenty-four hours. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>missed</span>
  </em>
  <span> her, and not only that, he missed her enough to </span>
  <em>
    <span>say</span>
  </em>
  <span> it. Kristoff, who measured the weight of his words with such care he hadn’t been able to bring himself to say goodbye, had asked her to keep her own close to her chest rather than telling him she loved him for the first and only time-- he </span>
  <em>
    <span>missed </span>
  </em>
  <span>her, and he had told her so.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>i miss you too. texting isn’t the same :/</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s really not. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She bit her lip, considering, before tapping out another message and pressing </span>
  <em>
    <span>send</span>
  </em>
  <span> before she could think better of it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>maybe we could call again?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>probably be easier for me now that i will be holding a baby all the time lol</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’d love that. I’m getting drinks with Ryder tonight, but I can call you after if you want. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p><span>He’d </span><em><span>love</span></em><span> that-- should she be reading into that? </span><em><span>No</span></em><span>, she thought, </span><em><span>definitely not. Then again-- no.</span></em> <em><span>Fuck, this might actually be harder than not talking to him.</span></em></p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>won’t that be really late for you?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>10 pm or so? We definitely used to stay up later than that. Besides, we have a lot to catch up on.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>:) sounds good. i have to run home and water the plants and get us a change of clothes so ill make sure it’s then so i can hear you over the hospital noise</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Can’t wait. :) Have to finish up some work really quick, so I have to go. But feel free to send me more pictures if you want. Tessa is already asking for updates.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>you got it :) talk soon!</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>yay this is my longest fic now</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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